What do you think?
Rate this book
Karte und Gebiet
Jed Martin ist Künstler. In seinen ersten Arbeiten stellt er Straßenkarten und Satellitenbilder gegenüber, zum Durchbruch verhelfen ihm jedoch Porträts. Einer der Porträtierten: "Michel Houellebecq, Schriftsteller". Doch dann geschieht ein grausames Verbrechen: ein Doppelmord, verübt auf so bestialische Weise, dass selbst die hartgesottenen Einsatzkräfte schockiert sind. Die Kunst, das Geld, die Arbeit. Die Liebe, das Leben, der Tod: Davon handelt dieser altmeisterliche Roman, der auch hierzulande bereits als literarische Sensation gefeiert wird. Michel Houellebecqs neustes Werk ist ein vollendeter Geniestreich von überraschender Zartheit. Der einstige Agent provocateur erscheint darin gereift und auf so humorvolle Weise melancholisch wie nie. Karte und Gebiet wird nicht nur die Freunde Houellebecqs begeistern, sondern auch manchen seiner Feinde.
416 pages, Hardcover
First published September 3, 2010
About the author
Michel Houellebecq
70 books7,422 followersMichel Houellebecq (born Michel Thomas), born 26 February 1958 (birth certificate) or 1956 on the French island of Réunion, is a controversial and award-winning French novelist. To admirers he is a writer in the tradition of literary provocation that reaches back to the Marquis de Sade and Baudelaire; to detractors he is a peddler, who writes vulgar sleazy literature to shock. His works though, particularly Atomised, have received high praise from the French literary intelligentsia, with generally positive international critical response, Having written poetry and a biography of the horror writer H. P. Lovecraft, he brought out his first novel Extension du domaine de la lutte in 1994. Les particules élémentaires followed in 1998 and Plateforme, in 2001. After a disastrous publicity tour for this book, which led to his being taken to court for inciting racial hatred, he went to Ireland to write. He currently resides in France, where he has been described as "France’s biggest literary export and, some say, greatest living writer". In 2010 he published La Carte et le Territoire (published the same year in English as The Map and the Territory) which won the prestigious Prix Goncourt; and, in 2015, Submission.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 1,534 reviews
February 9, 2017
”I’ve known several guys in my life who wanted to become artists, and were supported by their parents; not one of them managed to break through. It’s curious, you might think that the need to express yourself, to leave a trace in the world, is a powerful force, yet in general that’s not enough. What works best, what pushes people most violently to surpass themselves, is still the pure and simple need for money.”
Jeff Koons has made himself an objet d’art.
Whenever Jed Martin calls his agent and says I’m ready to do an art show he is also saying I’m done with this particular artistic endeavor. He, for instance, took provocative photos of man made objects. Once he showed the world his creations:
J'ai fini.
He painted a series depicting bakers, waiters, and other blue collar workers as well as a few portraits of the rich and powerful. Steve Jobs and Bill Gates discussing the future was of more interest to his rich patrons than say a postal worker. He knew he was finished, well thought he was, with this series when he gutted a painting he was doing on Jeff Koons, stomped, sliced and turned it into a mangled pile of pulp. He knows, despite this last failure or because of it, that it is time to share the series with the world. His publicist convinced Jed that he needed to contact the writer Michel Houellebecq and see if he could be persuaded to write a piece for the show catalog.
It is good timing because the writer has suffered some financial setbacks so he is motivated by ”the pure and simple need for money.” The French press has had a field day accusing him of all kinds of dastardly deeds and the bad press has certainly limited his opportunities to fix his pecuniary problems.
The always controversial Houellebecq.
There are readers who have an issue with a writer inserting himself so blatantly into the story. Of course writers put themselves in books, sometimes thinly disguised behind another name, and will deny if asked that a character bears any resemblance to themselves. This is a novel and now with the emergence of Houellebecq in the text it has become some kind of hybrid. What is to be believed? Is this a fictional version of Houellebecq? The way I look at history even the history of ourselves, within the confines of our own mind, is that our memories are a fusion of fiction and nonfiction. To label something one or the other is never completely correct. History is full of accounts that are sometimes a 60-40 split between truth and fantasy, but there are readers who want to feel the reassurance of a NONFICTION label.
As if fiction doesn’t reveal as much truth as nonfiction.
So let’s just say that Houellebecq, becoming a character in his own novel, does not bother me.
When Jed meets Houellebecq he realizes he is not finished with the series. The final painting has to be this writer. Houellebecq is extremely hard on himself. His portrayal of himself is rather scathing. Note to self: if I prostitute myself as a character in a novel please remember to emphasis my better qualities. Bret Easton Ellis writes himself into the novel Lunar Park which I really enjoyed, though there are reviewers who fervently disagree with me. Martin Amis also inserts himself in the hilarious book Money. Three winners for this reader.
Michel Houellebecq not at the top of his game as a fictional real person.
Jed’s relationships with women are similar to his relationship with his art, only he isn’t always finished with them before they are finished with him. He has a prostitute girlfriend named Genevieve.
”As much as men are often jealous, and sometimes horribly jealous, of their girlfriends’ former lovers, and as much as they ask themselves anxiously for years, and sometimes until death, it it hadn’t been better with the other one, if the other hadn’t given them more pleasure, they easily accept, without the slightest effort, everything their women might have done in the past as a prostitute. As soon as it is concluded by a financial transaction, any sexual activity is excused, rendered inoffensive, and in some way sanctified by the ancient curse of work.”
She leaves him for a client to have babies and settle down. Now he can be jealous?
Houellebecq, the one outside the book I’m not sure about the one inside the book, usually brings up the themes of the politics of sex and the way lust motivates all aspects of our lives, but in this book he just settles for some philosophical musings on prostitutes. This is the third book I’ve read by him and this is the book he spends the least amount of time talking about sex… libido slowing down Mr. Houellebecq?
So what makes a good artist Jed Martin?
...to be an artist, in his view, was above all to be someone, submissive. Someone who submitted himself to mysterious, unpredictable messages, that you would be led, for want of a better word and in the absence of any religious belief, to describe as intuitions, messages which nonetheless commanded you in an imperious and categorical manner, without leaving the slightest possibility of escape--except by losing any notion of integrity and self-respect. These messages could involve destroying a work, or even an entire body of work, to set off in a radically new direction or even occasionally no direction at all….
Jed begins a new series of photographing beautiful old Michelin maps and he meets a woman named Olga, a Russian beauty, who develops a real liking for the little Frenchman. She is desired by many and has her pick of the men of Paris, but she chooses Jed. He brings the maps alive making the art fresh with his own view of them. Her career with Michelin soon takes her back to Russia, but Jed stays in Paris afraid to get too far from the source of all inspiration...Paris. It was interesting to me that a man who is so willing to abandon success to move on to something new is unwilling to take the chance of finding new inspiration in such a vibrant country as Russia. The love of Paris and of France that Houellebecq feels, despite his travails with the French press, is readily apparent throughout this novel.
Towards the later third of the novel Houellebecq introduces a new character, a police inspector named Jasselin. There is this momentary bobble in the universe where this reader wondered if the writer was overstepping himself, but there is a gruesome Jackson Pollockesque murder that needs to be investigated. Jasselin has interesting thoughts about children (he is not a fan), silicon breasts (he is a fan), and Bichon Dogs (a breed perfectly designed to please man).
This novel drew me in even during those fleeting moments when I had doubts that there would be a definable plot or any resolutions. Houellebecq doesn’t shy away from those taboo subjects that we rarely discuss. Jed’s mom committed suicide and his father refuses to talk about it. The question that haunts the survivors is always why, but at the same time Jed’s not sure he wants to know why. When his father comes down with a terminal illness and is considering going to Norway for an assisted suicide, Jed has to deal with the consequences of such a decision. Suicide is a virus that once it infects a family it seems to have recurrences and ramifications for many, many generations. I always think of the five suicides in the Hemingway family that have haunted that line for four generations.
Houellebecq by Thomas Saliot
Houellebecq, as always, forced me to think about issues, some that have touched my life and some that may turn up like a bad penny in the future. His descriptions of the art world and the life of a famous writer gave me true insights into what it means to be creative, to be successful, and the struggles that everyone has to be happy. Although I have enjoyed his more sexually explicit novels it was nice to see him write a novel where his philosophies of life are not overshadowed by the controversy of what some would consider an obsession with deviant behavior.
If you wish to see more of my most recent book and movie reviews, visit http://www.jeffreykeeten.com
I also have a Facebook blogger page at:https://www.facebook.com/JeffreyKeeten
Jeff Koons has made himself an objet d’art.
Whenever Jed Martin calls his agent and says I’m ready to do an art show he is also saying I’m done with this particular artistic endeavor. He, for instance, took provocative photos of man made objects. Once he showed the world his creations:
J'ai fini.
He painted a series depicting bakers, waiters, and other blue collar workers as well as a few portraits of the rich and powerful. Steve Jobs and Bill Gates discussing the future was of more interest to his rich patrons than say a postal worker. He knew he was finished, well thought he was, with this series when he gutted a painting he was doing on Jeff Koons, stomped, sliced and turned it into a mangled pile of pulp. He knows, despite this last failure or because of it, that it is time to share the series with the world. His publicist convinced Jed that he needed to contact the writer Michel Houellebecq and see if he could be persuaded to write a piece for the show catalog.
It is good timing because the writer has suffered some financial setbacks so he is motivated by ”the pure and simple need for money.” The French press has had a field day accusing him of all kinds of dastardly deeds and the bad press has certainly limited his opportunities to fix his pecuniary problems.
The always controversial Houellebecq.
There are readers who have an issue with a writer inserting himself so blatantly into the story. Of course writers put themselves in books, sometimes thinly disguised behind another name, and will deny if asked that a character bears any resemblance to themselves. This is a novel and now with the emergence of Houellebecq in the text it has become some kind of hybrid. What is to be believed? Is this a fictional version of Houellebecq? The way I look at history even the history of ourselves, within the confines of our own mind, is that our memories are a fusion of fiction and nonfiction. To label something one or the other is never completely correct. History is full of accounts that are sometimes a 60-40 split between truth and fantasy, but there are readers who want to feel the reassurance of a NONFICTION label.
As if fiction doesn’t reveal as much truth as nonfiction.
So let’s just say that Houellebecq, becoming a character in his own novel, does not bother me.
When Jed meets Houellebecq he realizes he is not finished with the series. The final painting has to be this writer. Houellebecq is extremely hard on himself. His portrayal of himself is rather scathing. Note to self: if I prostitute myself as a character in a novel please remember to emphasis my better qualities. Bret Easton Ellis writes himself into the novel Lunar Park which I really enjoyed, though there are reviewers who fervently disagree with me. Martin Amis also inserts himself in the hilarious book Money. Three winners for this reader.
Michel Houellebecq not at the top of his game as a fictional real person.
Jed’s relationships with women are similar to his relationship with his art, only he isn’t always finished with them before they are finished with him. He has a prostitute girlfriend named Genevieve.
”As much as men are often jealous, and sometimes horribly jealous, of their girlfriends’ former lovers, and as much as they ask themselves anxiously for years, and sometimes until death, it it hadn’t been better with the other one, if the other hadn’t given them more pleasure, they easily accept, without the slightest effort, everything their women might have done in the past as a prostitute. As soon as it is concluded by a financial transaction, any sexual activity is excused, rendered inoffensive, and in some way sanctified by the ancient curse of work.”
She leaves him for a client to have babies and settle down. Now he can be jealous?
Houellebecq, the one outside the book I’m not sure about the one inside the book, usually brings up the themes of the politics of sex and the way lust motivates all aspects of our lives, but in this book he just settles for some philosophical musings on prostitutes. This is the third book I’ve read by him and this is the book he spends the least amount of time talking about sex… libido slowing down Mr. Houellebecq?
So what makes a good artist Jed Martin?
...to be an artist, in his view, was above all to be someone, submissive. Someone who submitted himself to mysterious, unpredictable messages, that you would be led, for want of a better word and in the absence of any religious belief, to describe as intuitions, messages which nonetheless commanded you in an imperious and categorical manner, without leaving the slightest possibility of escape--except by losing any notion of integrity and self-respect. These messages could involve destroying a work, or even an entire body of work, to set off in a radically new direction or even occasionally no direction at all….
Jed begins a new series of photographing beautiful old Michelin maps and he meets a woman named Olga, a Russian beauty, who develops a real liking for the little Frenchman. She is desired by many and has her pick of the men of Paris, but she chooses Jed. He brings the maps alive making the art fresh with his own view of them. Her career with Michelin soon takes her back to Russia, but Jed stays in Paris afraid to get too far from the source of all inspiration...Paris. It was interesting to me that a man who is so willing to abandon success to move on to something new is unwilling to take the chance of finding new inspiration in such a vibrant country as Russia. The love of Paris and of France that Houellebecq feels, despite his travails with the French press, is readily apparent throughout this novel.
Towards the later third of the novel Houellebecq introduces a new character, a police inspector named Jasselin. There is this momentary bobble in the universe where this reader wondered if the writer was overstepping himself, but there is a gruesome Jackson Pollockesque murder that needs to be investigated. Jasselin has interesting thoughts about children (he is not a fan), silicon breasts (he is a fan), and Bichon Dogs (a breed perfectly designed to please man).
This novel drew me in even during those fleeting moments when I had doubts that there would be a definable plot or any resolutions. Houellebecq doesn’t shy away from those taboo subjects that we rarely discuss. Jed’s mom committed suicide and his father refuses to talk about it. The question that haunts the survivors is always why, but at the same time Jed’s not sure he wants to know why. When his father comes down with a terminal illness and is considering going to Norway for an assisted suicide, Jed has to deal with the consequences of such a decision. Suicide is a virus that once it infects a family it seems to have recurrences and ramifications for many, many generations. I always think of the five suicides in the Hemingway family that have haunted that line for four generations.
Houellebecq by Thomas Saliot
Houellebecq, as always, forced me to think about issues, some that have touched my life and some that may turn up like a bad penny in the future. His descriptions of the art world and the life of a famous writer gave me true insights into what it means to be creative, to be successful, and the struggles that everyone has to be happy. Although I have enjoyed his more sexually explicit novels it was nice to see him write a novel where his philosophies of life are not overshadowed by the controversy of what some would consider an obsession with deviant behavior.
If you wish to see more of my most recent book and movie reviews, visit http://www.jeffreykeeten.com
I also have a Facebook blogger page at:https://www.facebook.com/JeffreyKeeten
March 4, 2018
WARNING: THIS REVIEW CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE DAVID CRONENBERG MOVIE MAPS TO THE STARS
This is an acidly cynical black comedy, and it's pretty funny, but that really doesn't tell you much about what it's like. I can see that many of the other reviewers are stuck too. Some of them have tried to explain by telling you about the plot, but since there are several rather excellent twists it doesn't seem right to reveal any of them. Luckily, we saw Maps to the Stars last night at the Grütli's Cronenberg festival, so I have the ideal comparison point: Cronenberg's depiction of the festering confluence of ego, money, sex and vacuous desire for fame that constitutes Hollywood is remarkably similar to Houellebecq's depiction of the world of modern art.
As noted, La carte et le territoire is funny. It's as funny as a thirteen year old movie star boasting that he's now been off drugs for 90 days. It's as funny as his foul-mouthed girlfriends calling every woman over twenty a menopausal slut. It's as funny as Julianne Moore literally dancing for joy when her rival's toddler drowns in a swimming pool, so that she can finally get her dream role. And it's as funny as the ending, where Mia Wasikowska batters her to death with her Academy Award statuette and then symbolically marries her own brother before they both take fatal overdoses. Let's face it, this is the world we're living in; at least we might as well laugh at the absurdity of it all.
Yes, it's pretty funny. But make sure your sense of humor is in good working order before you start.
__________________
[Update, Mar 4 2018]
People interested in modern art and its relationship to festering confluences of ego, money, sex and vacuous desire for fame may also enjoy The Square.
This is an acidly cynical black comedy, and it's pretty funny, but that really doesn't tell you much about what it's like. I can see that many of the other reviewers are stuck too. Some of them have tried to explain by telling you about the plot, but since there are several rather excellent twists it doesn't seem right to reveal any of them. Luckily, we saw Maps to the Stars last night at the Grütli's Cronenberg festival, so I have the ideal comparison point: Cronenberg's depiction of the festering confluence of ego, money, sex and vacuous desire for fame that constitutes Hollywood is remarkably similar to Houellebecq's depiction of the world of modern art.
As noted, La carte et le territoire is funny. It's as funny as a thirteen year old movie star boasting that he's now been off drugs for 90 days. It's as funny as his foul-mouthed girlfriends calling every woman over twenty a menopausal slut. It's as funny as Julianne Moore literally dancing for joy when her rival's toddler drowns in a swimming pool, so that she can finally get her dream role. And it's as funny as the ending, where Mia Wasikowska batters her to death with her Academy Award statuette and then symbolically marries her own brother before they both take fatal overdoses. Let's face it, this is the world we're living in; at least we might as well laugh at the absurdity of it all.
Yes, it's pretty funny. But make sure your sense of humor is in good working order before you start.
__________________
[Update, Mar 4 2018]
People interested in modern art and its relationship to festering confluences of ego, money, sex and vacuous desire for fame may also enjoy The Square.
October 1, 2020
La carte et le territoire (titre peut-être emprunté à un texte de Baudrillard) est le cinquième roman de Michel Houellebecq, primé par l’académie Goncourt — qui aurait sans doute dû se réveiller cinq ans plus tôt, au moment de La Possibilité d'une île, mais passons… Il s’agit ici d’un livre assez surprenant, même si ce n’est sans doute pas le meilleur Houellebecq.
Comme pour Plateforme, qui traitait de la question du tourisme sexuel mondialisé, ce livre-ci se concentre sur un aspect spécifique de notre civilisation : il s’agit cette fois du monde de l’art — et par métonymie, du monde littéraire. Jed Martin, le protagoniste, est un plasticien dont on suit les péripéties relationnelles et artistiques. Il passe par différentes phases : photographies d’objets industriels, de cartes Michelin, peintures des « métiers » (un peu dans l’esprit de la peinture Flamande), photographies de végétation. On suit également sa relation avec son père, architecte, chef d’entreprise, artiste raté, désormais vieillissant et malade. Les relations de Jed avec les femmes sont un peu au second plan et, par conséquent, les passages érotiques voire pornographiques, qui étaient fréquents dans les œuvres précédentes de Houellebecq, sont ici singulièrement absents. Là où le sexe était un rouage du capitalisme, c’est l’art qui prend la relève. Bref, par contraste, La carte et le territoire est un livre chaste.
Jed Martin, malgré son succès commercial fulgurant, est un personnage assez typique des romans de Houellebecq : morne, grisâtre. L’auteur décrit minutieusement le contenu de ses repas, les programmes qu’il regarde à la télé, etc. Sa fortune financière semble n’avoir aucune importance : le chauffe-eau de son appartement parisien ne fonctionne pas au début du livre ; il ne fonctionnera pas davantage à la fin. Il navigue, un peu indifférent, dans la jet-set parisienne, aux côtés de Frédéric Beigbeder, Julien Lepers ou Patrick Le Lay (ancien PDG de TF1). Comme souvent chez Houellebecq, son protagoniste passe pas mal de temps à table, à discuter de sujets divers. C’est là l’occasion pour le narrateur de se lancer dans un luxe descriptif tout droit sorti d’une encyclopédie ou d’un cahier des charges technique : objectifs photographiques, rayons d’hypermarché, Le Corbusier et les « machines à habiter », William Morris et les préraphaélites, l’aéroport de Shannon en Irlande, les chiens de compagnie, les maladies parasitaires, les Mercedes.
Il est tout à fait notable que Houellebecq se mette ici en scène comme personnage de son roman : un Houellebecq un peu caricatural. Lui aussi, immensément riche et célèbre, mais reclus, à demi-alcoolique et amateur de mortadelle. Plus intéressant encore, le fait que ce personnage, autofiction dans le roman de Houellebecq, devient la matière d’une forme atroce de bio-art ou body-art. Cet épisode, dans la dernière partie du livre, est d’ailleurs un peu hors-sujet par rapport au reste de l’intrigue : l’auteur passe sans crier gare de la satire sociale au genre de l’enquête policière pendant environ 70 pages, pour enfin retourner à son protagoniste initial et finir son livre sur une note douce et mate (qualificatifs récurrents chez Houellebecq), par une image d’anticipation : une France des années 2030 devenue une sorte de vaste parc d’attractions et une humanité graduellement envahie par la verdure.
Ce qui est troublant dans ce roman, c’est cette image de couches multiples et superposée, comme en abyme (la carte et le territoire du titre) qui se déploie au cours du récit : les paysages de la France rurale, leur représentation cartographique (les guides Michelin), les photographies d’art qu’en tire le protagoniste, la description qu’en donne le roman même, le portrait peint de l’auteur que fait Jed Martin, puis son corps déchiqueté (Houellebecq se débarrassant de lui-même), étalé sur le sol comme une carte ou un tableau.
Mais tout cela ne serait qu’un jeu littéraire un peu froid, s’il n’y avait ce que j’aime sans doute le plus chez Michel Houellebecq. En même temps qu’il se fait une sorte d’interprète du « mal du siècle », il use fréquemment d’une ironie distante et d’un humour mordant. La description des toiles représentant Jeff Koons et Damien Hirst, ou celle de Bill Gates et Steve Jobs, la rencontre avec Jean-Pierre Pernaut, le village dont les rues portent les noms de Heidegger, Leibniz, Kant ou Parménide, n’en sont que quelques exemples. C’est sans doute cet étrange mélange, à la fois sombre et pétillant, qui caractérise le mieux l’écriture de Michel Houellebecq.
Comme pour Plateforme, qui traitait de la question du tourisme sexuel mondialisé, ce livre-ci se concentre sur un aspect spécifique de notre civilisation : il s’agit cette fois du monde de l’art — et par métonymie, du monde littéraire. Jed Martin, le protagoniste, est un plasticien dont on suit les péripéties relationnelles et artistiques. Il passe par différentes phases : photographies d’objets industriels, de cartes Michelin, peintures des « métiers » (un peu dans l’esprit de la peinture Flamande), photographies de végétation. On suit également sa relation avec son père, architecte, chef d’entreprise, artiste raté, désormais vieillissant et malade. Les relations de Jed avec les femmes sont un peu au second plan et, par conséquent, les passages érotiques voire pornographiques, qui étaient fréquents dans les œuvres précédentes de Houellebecq, sont ici singulièrement absents. Là où le sexe était un rouage du capitalisme, c’est l’art qui prend la relève. Bref, par contraste, La carte et le territoire est un livre chaste.
Jed Martin, malgré son succès commercial fulgurant, est un personnage assez typique des romans de Houellebecq : morne, grisâtre. L’auteur décrit minutieusement le contenu de ses repas, les programmes qu’il regarde à la télé, etc. Sa fortune financière semble n’avoir aucune importance : le chauffe-eau de son appartement parisien ne fonctionne pas au début du livre ; il ne fonctionnera pas davantage à la fin. Il navigue, un peu indifférent, dans la jet-set parisienne, aux côtés de Frédéric Beigbeder, Julien Lepers ou Patrick Le Lay (ancien PDG de TF1). Comme souvent chez Houellebecq, son protagoniste passe pas mal de temps à table, à discuter de sujets divers. C’est là l’occasion pour le narrateur de se lancer dans un luxe descriptif tout droit sorti d’une encyclopédie ou d’un cahier des charges technique : objectifs photographiques, rayons d’hypermarché, Le Corbusier et les « machines à habiter », William Morris et les préraphaélites, l’aéroport de Shannon en Irlande, les chiens de compagnie, les maladies parasitaires, les Mercedes.
Il est tout à fait notable que Houellebecq se mette ici en scène comme personnage de son roman : un Houellebecq un peu caricatural. Lui aussi, immensément riche et célèbre, mais reclus, à demi-alcoolique et amateur de mortadelle. Plus intéressant encore, le fait que ce personnage, autofiction dans le roman de Houellebecq, devient la matière d’une forme atroce de bio-art ou body-art. Cet épisode, dans la dernière partie du livre, est d’ailleurs un peu hors-sujet par rapport au reste de l’intrigue : l’auteur passe sans crier gare de la satire sociale au genre de l’enquête policière pendant environ 70 pages, pour enfin retourner à son protagoniste initial et finir son livre sur une note douce et mate (qualificatifs récurrents chez Houellebecq), par une image d’anticipation : une France des années 2030 devenue une sorte de vaste parc d’attractions et une humanité graduellement envahie par la verdure.
Ce qui est troublant dans ce roman, c’est cette image de couches multiples et superposée, comme en abyme (la carte et le territoire du titre) qui se déploie au cours du récit : les paysages de la France rurale, leur représentation cartographique (les guides Michelin), les photographies d’art qu’en tire le protagoniste, la description qu’en donne le roman même, le portrait peint de l’auteur que fait Jed Martin, puis son corps déchiqueté (Houellebecq se débarrassant de lui-même), étalé sur le sol comme une carte ou un tableau.
Mais tout cela ne serait qu’un jeu littéraire un peu froid, s’il n’y avait ce que j’aime sans doute le plus chez Michel Houellebecq. En même temps qu’il se fait une sorte d’interprète du « mal du siècle », il use fréquemment d’une ironie distante et d’un humour mordant. La description des toiles représentant Jeff Koons et Damien Hirst, ou celle de Bill Gates et Steve Jobs, la rencontre avec Jean-Pierre Pernaut, le village dont les rues portent les noms de Heidegger, Leibniz, Kant ou Parménide, n’en sont que quelques exemples. C’est sans doute cet étrange mélange, à la fois sombre et pétillant, qui caractérise le mieux l’écriture de Michel Houellebecq.
June 30, 2013
Just finished the last thirty wonderfully flowing and surprising pages that end with the total domination of vegetation and then went back to the first lines namedropping Jeff Koons and Damien Hirst and said aloud "Ha, what a great book." I love how clearly he writes, with such unexpected analysis/insight, exaggerated generalizations asserted as truth (although toned down in this one -- not as much potentially politically incorrect stuff in general, and certainly not as much sex as the last two). I purposefully read nothing about this one and only knew it had been called an art world thriller -- which is half right. It's not a thriller and it's not so much about the art world as it is about how the nature of human industry relates to nature itself? A must for fans and a good introduction, too. No one else does genre-mashup semi-misanthropic nihilistic philosophy quite like him, although this did at times seem like a much better rendition of what BEE did in Lunar Park, genre-y literary fiction that includes the author as a character? But this novel doesn't devolve into spare plot mechanics -- the detective crimey bits are just as robust and typically swervy and "written" as the stuff that seems more literary. A nod, I think, to 2666 at one point but transposed to Thailand and the murders dropped from 300 to 30. Overall, an enjoyable weekend plus a few other sittings reading this. A softer, gentler (even accounting for the vicious murder and assorted body parts here and there), more mature Houellebecq, with his sharp, authentically Franch eye now a little more on the end of life (and the end of authentic/traditional French culture), although in this he spends 30 pages early on delivering the main character's backstory, something I don't remember in his other books, wherein characters are presented without much authorial worry re: their histories, like in genre books. Amazingly, there's even a strong-willed successful female character in this one who's not treated as a sex object! This book will probably be treated as news about contemporary (French and international commerce) culture that'll stay news in the future, or maybe like the old photos Jed films it'll fade with exposure to time and the elements, like Balzac before him? Houellebecq suggests that all he wants to do is account for what he sees, aspiring to the patient vision of plants. What he sees he presents as an inexact map of the thickety terrain of life, where all things change, except for ever-changing nature and the criminal motivations of sex and greed. Something like that. Anyway, a real good book. Might go back and read The Elementary Particles.
March 4, 2018
شارل دورليان (( العالم ضجر مني وأنا كذلك منه .. ))
ميشيل ويلبيك من خلال ثلاث شخصيات يظهر شخصيته (الكاتب، والرسام، والمحقق)
يستعرض خلال احداث الرواية الحياة الثقافية والاجتمتاعية والتغييرات على الحياة في فرنسا.
فالرسام الذي عشق التصوير في طفولته وكان اول معرض له لتصوير المناطق من خلال خرائط ميشيلان، والتي كانت سببا في ان يصبح غنيا,
وبعد ذلك نجاح لمعرض الرسم الذي تعرف من خلاله على الكاتب ميشيل ويلبيك ويقوم بإهداءه رسما له تكون سببا في كشف جريمة قتل اصابت الكاتب الكبير. ولم يعرف بموته الا بعد يوين من الوفاة.
الوحدة التي تصيب كبار السن بعد التقاعد والتي تجعلهم ينعزلون عن العالم ويبتعدون عن الاختلاط به. فالكاتب يعتزل في قرية بعيدة ويبتعد عن المجتمع. اما المحقق فبعد احالته على التقاعد يبتعد ايضا اجباريا ويعيش وحيدا. وكذلك الرسام الذي يعتزل المجتمع. ويغيش في مجتمع ريفي ويستعرض من خلاله كيف يتعامل هذا المجتمع مع الغرباء والتغييرات في هذا المجتمه من الاهتمام بالزراعة فقط، والتوجه الى السياحة ثم العودة الى الزراعة والسياحة معا.
المؤلف يقتل نفسه في هذه الرواية بتنفيذ جريمة بطريقة فنية ويعجز البوليس عن حلها والدافع اليها الا بتدخل الرسام الذي يخبرهم باختفاء اللوحة التي رسمها للكاتب والتي اصبحت تبلغ الملايين الان.
رواية جميلة ووممتعة
ميشيل ويلبيك من خلال ثلاث شخصيات يظهر شخصيته (الكاتب، والرسام، والمحقق)
يستعرض خلال احداث الرواية الحياة الثقافية والاجتمتاعية والتغييرات على الحياة في فرنسا.
فالرسام الذي عشق التصوير في طفولته وكان اول معرض له لتصوير المناطق من خلال خرائط ميشيلان، والتي كانت سببا في ان يصبح غنيا,
وبعد ذلك نجاح لمعرض الرسم الذي تعرف من خلاله على الكاتب ميشيل ويلبيك ويقوم بإهداءه رسما له تكون سببا في كشف جريمة قتل اصابت الكاتب الكبير. ولم يعرف بموته الا بعد يوين من الوفاة.
الوحدة التي تصيب كبار السن بعد التقاعد والتي تجعلهم ينعزلون عن العالم ويبتعدون عن الاختلاط به. فالكاتب يعتزل في قرية بعيدة ويبتعد عن المجتمع. اما المحقق فبعد احالته على التقاعد يبتعد ايضا اجباريا ويعيش وحيدا. وكذلك الرسام الذي يعتزل المجتمع. ويغيش في مجتمع ريفي ويستعرض من خلاله كيف يتعامل هذا المجتمع مع الغرباء والتغييرات في هذا المجتمه من الاهتمام بالزراعة فقط، والتوجه الى السياحة ثم العودة الى الزراعة والسياحة معا.
المؤلف يقتل نفسه في هذه الرواية بتنفيذ جريمة بطريقة فنية ويعجز البوليس عن حلها والدافع اليها الا بتدخل الرسام الذي يخبرهم باختفاء اللوحة التي رسمها للكاتب والتي اصبحت تبلغ الملايين الان.
رواية جميلة ووممتعة
August 21, 2022
Novela complicadilla esta, para qué os voy a engañar, y que tiene no un transfondo, ni dos ni tres... pero a mí me ha resultado muy fácil de leer por la manera cómo escribe Houellebecq, que me encanta.
A ver, empezando por el título, hay que echar mano de la Wikipedia:
La relación mapa-territorio describe la relación entre un objeto y la representación de dicho objeto, similar a la relación entre un territorio geográfico y un mapa del mismo. El científico y filósofo Polaco-Estadounidense Alfred Korzybski señaló que "el mapa no es el territorio", resumiendo su punto de vista acerca de cómo la abstracción derivada de un objeto, o una reacción hacia él, no es la cosa en sí misma. Korzybski sostuvo que muchas personas confunden mapas con territorios, esto es, confunden modelos de la realidad con la realidad misma.
Por tanto, filosofía pura y también arte contemporáneo y arquitectura, eso de entrada. Pero además el autor reflexiona sobre una Francia convertida en parque temático para los turistas, con la exaltación del 'terroir' y las características propias de cada región recogidas en cadenas de hoteles 'con encanto' y donde la gastronomía es una parte importante de la recuperación del pasado ideal:
Había jabalí, lechón, pavo; de postre por descontado el establecimiento, cuyos camareros educados, desdibujados, operaban en silencio como en una unidad de grandes quemados, ofrecía un tronco de Navidad a la antigua.
Junto a todos estos temas abstractos, la soledad y las relaciones interpersonales ocupan un lugar no menor en la novela, así como la vejez, el sentido del trabajo y el sistema de producción de las sociedades occidentales.
En materia de seres humanos sólo conocía a su padre, y tampoco mucho. Esta frecuentación no podía incitarle a un gran optimismo en cuanto a las relaciones humanas. Por lo que había podido observar, la existencia de los hombres se organizaba alrededor del trabajo, que ocupaba la mayor parte de la vida, y se realizaba en organizaciones de dimensión variable.
En pocas palabras, habla de TODO y lo hace con esa gracia Houellebecq - al menos para mí - tan especial. La gran pirueta viene cuando él mismo aparece como personaje en la historia, describiéndose sin concesiones:
Era público y notorio que Houellebecq era un solitario con fuertes tendencias misantrópicas y que apenas le dirigía la palabra a su perro.
Una perspectiva muy divertida e irónica, que nos introduce en un juego de espejos redondo: Houellebecq nos retrata al protagonista Jed Martin, un artista que a su vez pinta el retrato del personaje Houellebecq.
En la tercera parte la novela da un giro sorprendente y se convierte en una novela negra, con unos policías que investigan un crimen. El autor nos lleva por donde quiere y la trama es de todo menos previsible.
En conjunto una obra que a mí me ha parecido genial, pero que entiendo que si no te interesan los temas tratados también puede parecer un peñazo.
A ver, empezando por el título, hay que echar mano de la Wikipedia:
La relación mapa-territorio describe la relación entre un objeto y la representación de dicho objeto, similar a la relación entre un territorio geográfico y un mapa del mismo. El científico y filósofo Polaco-Estadounidense Alfred Korzybski señaló que "el mapa no es el territorio", resumiendo su punto de vista acerca de cómo la abstracción derivada de un objeto, o una reacción hacia él, no es la cosa en sí misma. Korzybski sostuvo que muchas personas confunden mapas con territorios, esto es, confunden modelos de la realidad con la realidad misma.
Por tanto, filosofía pura y también arte contemporáneo y arquitectura, eso de entrada. Pero además el autor reflexiona sobre una Francia convertida en parque temático para los turistas, con la exaltación del 'terroir' y las características propias de cada región recogidas en cadenas de hoteles 'con encanto' y donde la gastronomía es una parte importante de la recuperación del pasado ideal:
Había jabalí, lechón, pavo; de postre por descontado el establecimiento, cuyos camareros educados, desdibujados, operaban en silencio como en una unidad de grandes quemados, ofrecía un tronco de Navidad a la antigua.
Junto a todos estos temas abstractos, la soledad y las relaciones interpersonales ocupan un lugar no menor en la novela, así como la vejez, el sentido del trabajo y el sistema de producción de las sociedades occidentales.
En materia de seres humanos sólo conocía a su padre, y tampoco mucho. Esta frecuentación no podía incitarle a un gran optimismo en cuanto a las relaciones humanas. Por lo que había podido observar, la existencia de los hombres se organizaba alrededor del trabajo, que ocupaba la mayor parte de la vida, y se realizaba en organizaciones de dimensión variable.
En pocas palabras, habla de TODO y lo hace con esa gracia Houellebecq - al menos para mí - tan especial. La gran pirueta viene cuando él mismo aparece como personaje en la historia, describiéndose sin concesiones:
Era público y notorio que Houellebecq era un solitario con fuertes tendencias misantrópicas y que apenas le dirigía la palabra a su perro.
Una perspectiva muy divertida e irónica, que nos introduce en un juego de espejos redondo: Houellebecq nos retrata al protagonista Jed Martin, un artista que a su vez pinta el retrato del personaje Houellebecq.
En la tercera parte la novela da un giro sorprendente y se convierte en una novela negra, con unos policías que investigan un crimen. El autor nos lleva por donde quiere y la trama es de todo menos previsible.
En conjunto una obra que a mí me ha parecido genial, pero que entiendo que si no te interesan los temas tratados también puede parecer un peñazo.
May 15, 2023
مصاحبهی آخر کتاب با نويسنده بینظیر بود. خیلی از گرهها و علت اتفاقاتی که تو رمان افتاده بود رو نویسنده به خوبی توضیح داده و همچنین چرایی نوشتن این کتاب.
یجا ازش میپرسن:
_ وقتی نقشه و قلمرو را مینوشتی چه حالی داشتی؟
_ سردم بود.با سیستم گرمایش مشکلاتی داشتم و اهمیت آبگرمکن در صفحههای ابتدایی از همین ناشی میشود. غمگین هم بودم. احتمالا به این خاطر که خیلی به خصوصیت لاعلاج پیری فکر میکردم. غم و سردی جسم.
و منم دریافتم از کتاب همین بود.
جایی که میگه : آدم همانطور که شروع کرده، تمام میکند.
غم، سردی، تاریکی، پیری
یجا ازش میپرسن:
_ وقتی نقشه و قلمرو را مینوشتی چه حالی داشتی؟
_ سردم بود.با سیستم گرمایش مشکلاتی داشتم و اهمیت آبگرمکن در صفحههای ابتدایی از همین ناشی میشود. غمگین هم بودم. احتمالا به این خاطر که خیلی به خصوصیت لاعلاج پیری فکر میکردم. غم و سردی جسم.
و منم دریافتم از کتاب همین بود.
جایی که میگه : آدم همانطور که شروع کرده، تمام میکند.
غم، سردی، تاریکی، پیری
May 14, 2022
With only one Houellebecq novel now left to read, I'm still extremely polarized on his work. He can be like a sniggeringly rude, misanthropic Billy no-mates, pain in the ass mastubatory adolesent runt who would clearly rather be jerking off than writing a novel. But he can also be blisteringly good, ironically as sharp as a slasher's switchblade, and paint a pretty accurate view of society and the times we live in. Here, it's the latter. Here, he is more 'on the ball' than rubbing his balls. Here, he is in a more reflective mood and less agitated; more hospitable than he is belligerent and offensive. However, Houellebecq being Houellebecq, it's still a novel that carries many of his usual traits - the sex, the slurs and all that - but it is one that has a heart. This is now probably my favourite of his books. Putting himself in his own novel was indeed a great idea, but it was the life of the artist Jed Martin that made all difference. It'd say the most likeable of all the characters he's ever written. The novel goes a lot deeper than simpy being a meditation on art, and it's relationship with the world it looks to portray, It's also a sort of venture - well, later on anyway - into the detective story, which came as a bit of a surprise. Two of his novels I detested - Lanzarote & The Possibility of an Island - but The Map and the Territory for me exhibited Houellebecq at his absolute best.
Read
June 13, 2017Finally a map of Houellebecq territory.
When I read 'Plateforme' some years ago, I dismissed Houellebecq as being overrated, and a complete misogynist, but I've changed my mind after reading La Carte et le Territoire. There are some very original plot details, interesting takes on photography and contemporary art, a bit of a meander on architecture, and plenty of information on cartography for those of us who loves maps. But the most amazing thing is that in spite of a main character who is very uncharismatic and some other positively eccentric ones, I felt drawn in and compelled to see it through to the end - a bit like the hypnotic feeling I had reading Thomas Bernhard's 'Correction', also featuring an uncharismatic main character and equally bizarre secondary ones..
When I read 'Plateforme' some years ago, I dismissed Houellebecq as being overrated, and a complete misogynist, but I've changed my mind after reading La Carte et le Territoire. There are some very original plot details, interesting takes on photography and contemporary art, a bit of a meander on architecture, and plenty of information on cartography for those of us who loves maps. But the most amazing thing is that in spite of a main character who is very uncharismatic and some other positively eccentric ones, I felt drawn in and compelled to see it through to the end - a bit like the hypnotic feeling I had reading Thomas Bernhard's 'Correction', also featuring an uncharismatic main character and equally bizarre secondary ones..
March 6, 2024
نمیدانم
هیچ نظری ندارم
شاید بعدا فهمیدم
شاید هیچوقت نفهمم
شایدم فراموش کنم که اصلا قرار بود بفهمم
هیچ نظری ندارم
شاید بعدا فهمیدم
شاید هیچوقت نفهمم
شایدم فراموش کنم که اصلا قرار بود بفهمم
June 26, 2012
OK, if I have to be completely blunt, Michel Houellebecq must be the most overrated contemporary author since Amelie Nothomb. The Map and the Territory has received so much publicity in the last year or two, and I’ve come across the title in news and write-ups so many times, not to mention enthusiastic comments I’ve overheard during social occasions, that it seemed like I am missing out on something big out there. Not only did the book seem to be in the cultural news every other day or something for the last few months, but it has also been awarded the “most prestigious literary prize in France” in 2010, and its author has been hailed as a unique and brilliant voice and an astute commentator on the world of contemporary art and culture.
Yet here I am finishing it up (the first whole book that I read entirely on my Kindle, by the way) today and being completely baffled as to what in the world I missed and how come I didn’t feel not a hint of the ubiquitous excitement about this “fresh new voice.”
Not that the book is completely horrible, but it is decidedly one of the most mediocre and dull things I’ve read, ever.
The idea behind The Map and the Territory itself is perhaps not a bad one – attempting to present a picture, an analysis of current trends, of things here and now and in flux, is challenging, but at the same time, it is, I think, necessary and appreciated by those who nevertheless would like to make sense of the world around them, to hear the opinions of those who are an active part of the current (cultural) landscape and who can offer an insightful analysis, venturing to do it without the benefit of hindsight. When done well, such works can be really thought-provoking and can have a long staying power that enhances the reader’s being in the world and adds to the reader’s critical engagement with it. The problem of The Map and the Territory in being far from this kind of book lies largely, I think, with its execution.
To start with, the plot of the book is, how to say, nothing to write home about. The story traces the life of an upper-class photographer-turned-painter in France as he goes from being a dull loner -- with no particular interests other than his art, which he doesn’t seem to be too excited about either -- to a superhighly paid dull loner snapping away pictures of decomposing industrial materials in his mansion (OK, nice point perhaps, not sure), until the time comes when he finally decides to present these mind-blowing images to a thankful and wowed world that’s surely been left in a sort of bereavement during the period since the artist’s going into reclusion. The events take place over a span of 20-30 years, from the 00s to the near future, the 2020s.
Three events seem to mark the otherwise completely unexciting life story of Jed Martin (the book’s protagonist). In order not to give out spoilers, I am not going to go further into details on these three, except to say that I am still completely at a loss as to how two of those had any place in the book at all – the Olga bit and the episode with Michel Houellebecq, the character, didn’t bring anything to the story, in my opinion, in addition to being poorly written, hardly believable, and unmoving. I have to admit that, as the story of Michel Houellebecq the character developed, about two-thirds into the book, I really got tricked into believing that this book would finally start being interesting. Ha – at long last some stir, something to make you want to read further. Alas, the excitement lasted only a chapter or two, as M. Houellebecq the writer steered us back onto the tedious track, to completely evaporate by the time of the most anticlimactic and trite denouement.
The protagonist himself I found completely unengaging and unlikeable. Not that characters need to be likeable in the cutesy, goody, righteous kind of way, of course not. But even normal or bad personages need to be full-blooded and complex enough for me to take them seriously. Jed Martin was simply stonecold. Things just kept happening to him, it seemed to me, almost as if he had no active part in what was going on, nor did he seem like he wanted to have an active part in anything. OK, Houellebecq the writer makes the point of Jed Martin being sort of excited about his art in the beginning of the book, but nothing like the fervor, pain, tribulations, and ups and downs that so often characterize artistic life ever emerges in the narrative, and so the whole idea of Jed Martin becoming an extraordinarily good artist is completely unconvincing. So, I had to share Jed Martin’s own cluelessness when his work ends up receiving a fantastic and unanimous critical acclaim that makes the protagonist the rather unwitting star of his artistic generation.
Another problem – one that seems common in recent books that I’ve (attempted to) read, unfortunately, and that was particularly prominent in this one – is the tendency of the author, almost at any cost, to show his or her knowledge in a particular area, regardless of whether this adds anything to the story, or worse, sounds forced and foreign to the point of the reader almost picturing the author sitting there with an encyclopedia of, say, photography, and copying a passage about the latest model of Canon lenses and inserting it into a piece of dialogue. There are many ways in which an author, if they so wish, can work their research and expertise into a book to show how much they are familiar with the subject matter, but it takes some effort, if not talent, to do it so that it fits with the theme, style, and structure of the story in a seamless, nonintrusive way (see e.g. Michael Chabon). Michel Houellebecq the author’s detours into the history of avant-garde architecture or the mechanics of photography are just sloppily slapped onto any odd place within the story, making these parts cumbersome and quite irksome. Similarly, the author’s preoccupation with brand names and models very often felt to me completely out of place. Why go into the type of Lexus that Jed Martin could have bought and the type of Audi and its specs that he did buy, or the precise type of wine that he ordered in a restaurant, when meanwhile Jed Martin is presented as this clueless, nonchalant type that doesn’t seem to give a damn about these things and seems generally detached from worldly trifles such as these?
For a brief moment, I also entertained the idea -- one that comes rather easily to mind -- that the “drawbacks” that I described above are actually perhaps M. Houellebecq’s making his point stronger, driving it further home, as it were. Presenting these shallow and cold characters and dotting the story with minutiae about brands and models and depicting an artistic process that is as bland and unpainstaking as a walk in the park is perhaps an integral part of M. Houellebecq’s comment on the art world today or something. However, that doesn’t seem right either, as it seems too easy an explanation in this particular case. For this idea to work, there must be something, a little something at least, to give a hint of the alternative, a reference point for what is worthy, for what is to be contrasted with, contrapuntal to, the other vision. And I find none of that in The Map and the Territory. I have to say, though, M. Houellebecq’s own phenomenal success with this book does seem like an interesting piece of irony and perhaps a good commentary on current culture/literature that the book itself fails to make.
Yet here I am finishing it up (the first whole book that I read entirely on my Kindle, by the way) today and being completely baffled as to what in the world I missed and how come I didn’t feel not a hint of the ubiquitous excitement about this “fresh new voice.”
Not that the book is completely horrible, but it is decidedly one of the most mediocre and dull things I’ve read, ever.
The idea behind The Map and the Territory itself is perhaps not a bad one – attempting to present a picture, an analysis of current trends, of things here and now and in flux, is challenging, but at the same time, it is, I think, necessary and appreciated by those who nevertheless would like to make sense of the world around them, to hear the opinions of those who are an active part of the current (cultural) landscape and who can offer an insightful analysis, venturing to do it without the benefit of hindsight. When done well, such works can be really thought-provoking and can have a long staying power that enhances the reader’s being in the world and adds to the reader’s critical engagement with it. The problem of The Map and the Territory in being far from this kind of book lies largely, I think, with its execution.
To start with, the plot of the book is, how to say, nothing to write home about. The story traces the life of an upper-class photographer-turned-painter in France as he goes from being a dull loner -- with no particular interests other than his art, which he doesn’t seem to be too excited about either -- to a superhighly paid dull loner snapping away pictures of decomposing industrial materials in his mansion (OK, nice point perhaps, not sure), until the time comes when he finally decides to present these mind-blowing images to a thankful and wowed world that’s surely been left in a sort of bereavement during the period since the artist’s going into reclusion. The events take place over a span of 20-30 years, from the 00s to the near future, the 2020s.
Three events seem to mark the otherwise completely unexciting life story of Jed Martin (the book’s protagonist). In order not to give out spoilers, I am not going to go further into details on these three, except to say that I am still completely at a loss as to how two of those had any place in the book at all – the Olga bit and the episode with Michel Houellebecq, the character, didn’t bring anything to the story, in my opinion, in addition to being poorly written, hardly believable, and unmoving. I have to admit that, as the story of Michel Houellebecq the character developed, about two-thirds into the book, I really got tricked into believing that this book would finally start being interesting. Ha – at long last some stir, something to make you want to read further. Alas, the excitement lasted only a chapter or two, as M. Houellebecq the writer steered us back onto the tedious track, to completely evaporate by the time of the most anticlimactic and trite denouement.
The protagonist himself I found completely unengaging and unlikeable. Not that characters need to be likeable in the cutesy, goody, righteous kind of way, of course not. But even normal or bad personages need to be full-blooded and complex enough for me to take them seriously. Jed Martin was simply stonecold. Things just kept happening to him, it seemed to me, almost as if he had no active part in what was going on, nor did he seem like he wanted to have an active part in anything. OK, Houellebecq the writer makes the point of Jed Martin being sort of excited about his art in the beginning of the book, but nothing like the fervor, pain, tribulations, and ups and downs that so often characterize artistic life ever emerges in the narrative, and so the whole idea of Jed Martin becoming an extraordinarily good artist is completely unconvincing. So, I had to share Jed Martin’s own cluelessness when his work ends up receiving a fantastic and unanimous critical acclaim that makes the protagonist the rather unwitting star of his artistic generation.
Another problem – one that seems common in recent books that I’ve (attempted to) read, unfortunately, and that was particularly prominent in this one – is the tendency of the author, almost at any cost, to show his or her knowledge in a particular area, regardless of whether this adds anything to the story, or worse, sounds forced and foreign to the point of the reader almost picturing the author sitting there with an encyclopedia of, say, photography, and copying a passage about the latest model of Canon lenses and inserting it into a piece of dialogue. There are many ways in which an author, if they so wish, can work their research and expertise into a book to show how much they are familiar with the subject matter, but it takes some effort, if not talent, to do it so that it fits with the theme, style, and structure of the story in a seamless, nonintrusive way (see e.g. Michael Chabon). Michel Houellebecq the author’s detours into the history of avant-garde architecture or the mechanics of photography are just sloppily slapped onto any odd place within the story, making these parts cumbersome and quite irksome. Similarly, the author’s preoccupation with brand names and models very often felt to me completely out of place. Why go into the type of Lexus that Jed Martin could have bought and the type of Audi and its specs that he did buy, or the precise type of wine that he ordered in a restaurant, when meanwhile Jed Martin is presented as this clueless, nonchalant type that doesn’t seem to give a damn about these things and seems generally detached from worldly trifles such as these?
For a brief moment, I also entertained the idea -- one that comes rather easily to mind -- that the “drawbacks” that I described above are actually perhaps M. Houellebecq’s making his point stronger, driving it further home, as it were. Presenting these shallow and cold characters and dotting the story with minutiae about brands and models and depicting an artistic process that is as bland and unpainstaking as a walk in the park is perhaps an integral part of M. Houellebecq’s comment on the art world today or something. However, that doesn’t seem right either, as it seems too easy an explanation in this particular case. For this idea to work, there must be something, a little something at least, to give a hint of the alternative, a reference point for what is worthy, for what is to be contrasted with, contrapuntal to, the other vision. And I find none of that in The Map and the Territory. I have to say, though, M. Houellebecq’s own phenomenal success with this book does seem like an interesting piece of irony and perhaps a good commentary on current culture/literature that the book itself fails to make.
April 22, 2018
Ο Houellebecq είναι κυνικός, σαρκαστικός, έντονα κριτικός, αλλά ρεαλιστής. Ίσως από τους λίγους που δεν εξιδανικεύει τους ήρωές του. Επίσης, γράφει τόσο ωραία που διαβάζεται πολύ εύκολα.
January 3, 2012
His best novel. The themes are basically the same, but Michel Houellebecq tells the tale again with great energy and in a large tongue in cheek manner. On one level it is about the rise of an artist who doesn't really want to participate in the art market. He has nothing against it, but his character is not one where he follows the market place. Yet he's extremely successful in what he does. The other textual parts are Houellebecq's fascination with what people do on their 'free' time - the need to be a tourist in 21st Century life as well as the issue of aging, fame, and the beauty of maps. in many ways, of all his novels, this is the most Situationist like. Houellebecq is for sure not Guy Debord, but he shares his sense of love (disgust?) at looking at culture and what that means to an artist/writer as well
There are major plot turns that makes this narrative into a policer. The twists in the plot makes this a really fun read. "The Map and the Territory" is the best novel of the year and its January 3, 2012.
There are major plot turns that makes this narrative into a policer. The twists in the plot makes this a really fun read. "The Map and the Territory" is the best novel of the year and its January 3, 2012.
September 22, 2023
Primer libro que leo de Houellebecq y la experiencia me resultó ampliamente positiva. Era un autor con el que tenía muchas dudas porque las reseñas de sus libros suelen ser muy dispares, y lo que encontré fue una novela ágil, con una prosa sencilla y de muy fácil lectura, que aunque a primera vista puede parecer una novela muy simple, no lo es, porque Houellebecq va minando sutilmente el libro con temas de lo más variados que invitan a la reflexión y hacen que la novela gane en complejidad aún cuando el argumento y la trama de la historia son de lo más sencillo.
Soledad, relaciones de familia, personas a la que les cuesta encajar en la sociedad y personas que no quieren encajar, la obsolescencia programada de los productos de consumo en el mundo de hoy, la diferencia entre arte y artesanado y la industria que hay detrás, el sistema de producción industrial. Estos son algunos de los temas tocados por Houellebecq y que quedan apuntalados por un reguero de frases filosas que va dejando por todo el libro.
Una novela entretenida, fácil de leer, bien estructurada y que a mi por lo menos me resultó una excelente puerta de entrada al mundo Houellebecq.
4,5 ⭐️
“También nosotros somos productos -continuó-, productos culturales. Nosotros también llegaremos a la obsolescencia. El funcionamiento del mecanismo es idéntico, con la salvedad de que no existe, en general, mejora técnica o funcional evidente; sólo subsiste la exigencia de novedad en estado puro.”
Soledad, relaciones de familia, personas a la que les cuesta encajar en la sociedad y personas que no quieren encajar, la obsolescencia programada de los productos de consumo en el mundo de hoy, la diferencia entre arte y artesanado y la industria que hay detrás, el sistema de producción industrial. Estos son algunos de los temas tocados por Houellebecq y que quedan apuntalados por un reguero de frases filosas que va dejando por todo el libro.
Una novela entretenida, fácil de leer, bien estructurada y que a mi por lo menos me resultó una excelente puerta de entrada al mundo Houellebecq.
4,5 ⭐️
“También nosotros somos productos -continuó-, productos culturales. Nosotros también llegaremos a la obsolescencia. El funcionamiento del mecanismo es idéntico, con la salvedad de que no existe, en general, mejora técnica o funcional evidente; sólo subsiste la exigencia de novedad en estado puro.”
Read
December 10, 2020J'ai également lu que M.Houellebecq est un écrivain controversé .Je pense qu'il l'a lu aussi et il a pensé nous montrer ce que cela signifie d'etre controversé. Il a donc écrit ce roman qui, d'une part, je l'ai trouvé génial,mais, de l'autre part, il semblait banal et sec.Je n'ai jamais fait une association plus aberrante que "genial" avec le "banal"....Mais, c'était mon impression pendant la lecture, et je dois le dire honnêtement .
En lisant le roman, je me sentais comme un carrousel déséquilibré, donc mes impressions seront tout aussi déséquilibrées.. Cela m'a intrigué, mais j'ai bien trouvé l'ironie et le cynisme dont l'auteur fait preuve, se transformant en personnage, racontant même sa mort, comme un crime odieux.
Je trouve courageux pour un écrivain de se rapporter ainsi à lui-même, le risque est assez élevé. Si un lecteur ne connaît Houellebecq qu'à travers ce roman, ce sera assez déroutant.
En lisant le roman, je me sentais comme un carrousel déséquilibré, donc mes impressions seront tout aussi déséquilibrées.. Cela m'a intrigué, mais j'ai bien trouvé l'ironie et le cynisme dont l'auteur fait preuve, se transformant en personnage, racontant même sa mort, comme un crime odieux.
Je trouve courageux pour un écrivain de se rapporter ainsi à lui-même, le risque est assez élevé. Si un lecteur ne connaît Houellebecq qu'à travers ce roman, ce sera assez déroutant.
August 17, 2013
Frankly I read this because my 16-year old did, and considering the negative buzz surrounding Houellebecq I was wondering if she was polluting her beautiful young mind with misogynist pornography. I didn’t expect to like it. So it is with surprise that I bestow 5 stars upon it. A wonderful book - rich, true and wickedly funny.
Now that I’ve looked into Houellebecq a bit more I see this was maybe an odd place to start; his other, more misanthropic, sexually-charged books are what got him all the attention. But I don’t care. This was a very satisfying read on many levels, from the narrative style to the prose, from the originality to the humor and insight.
The main character is a painter named Jed Martin who is first launched to fame by a series he does using Michelin maps. On a trip with his father, they stop at a rest stop, where he buys a map.
“It was then, unfolding the map, while standing by the cellophane-wrapped sandwiches, that he had his second great aesthetic revelation. This map was sublime. Overcome, he began to tremble in front of the food display. Never had he contemplated an object as magnificent, as rich in motion and meaning as this 1/150,000-scale Michelin map of the Creuse and Haute-Vienne. The essence of modernity, of scientific and technical apprehension of the world, was here combined with the essence of animal life. The drawing was complex and beautiful, absolutely clear, using only a small palette of colours. But in each of the hamlets and villages, represented according to their importance, you felt the thrill, the appeal, of human lives, of dozens and hundreds of souls ...”
At some point later in the book, someone observes that the map is more interesting than the territory. Contemplating (and rendering) the world is more interesting than being involved in it.
I loved the take on the art/literary world. I enjoyed the storyline with the father, the reflections on France and society, on death, on relationships. Houellebecq bringing himself in as a character was a master stroke and revealing. I adored the rant about Picasso. The way he did himself in was marvelous. To me it was a subdued joyride of a book, not in that it was uplifting, but because the author tugged the rip cord and let it rip.
Now that I’ve looked into Houellebecq a bit more I see this was maybe an odd place to start; his other, more misanthropic, sexually-charged books are what got him all the attention. But I don’t care. This was a very satisfying read on many levels, from the narrative style to the prose, from the originality to the humor and insight.
The main character is a painter named Jed Martin who is first launched to fame by a series he does using Michelin maps. On a trip with his father, they stop at a rest stop, where he buys a map.
“It was then, unfolding the map, while standing by the cellophane-wrapped sandwiches, that he had his second great aesthetic revelation. This map was sublime. Overcome, he began to tremble in front of the food display. Never had he contemplated an object as magnificent, as rich in motion and meaning as this 1/150,000-scale Michelin map of the Creuse and Haute-Vienne. The essence of modernity, of scientific and technical apprehension of the world, was here combined with the essence of animal life. The drawing was complex and beautiful, absolutely clear, using only a small palette of colours. But in each of the hamlets and villages, represented according to their importance, you felt the thrill, the appeal, of human lives, of dozens and hundreds of souls ...”
At some point later in the book, someone observes that the map is more interesting than the territory. Contemplating (and rendering) the world is more interesting than being involved in it.
I loved the take on the art/literary world. I enjoyed the storyline with the father, the reflections on France and society, on death, on relationships. Houellebecq bringing himself in as a character was a master stroke and revealing. I adored the rant about Picasso. The way he did himself in was marvelous. To me it was a subdued joyride of a book, not in that it was uplifting, but because the author tugged the rip cord and let it rip.
November 11, 2019
Voilà l'histoire de Jed Martin, un artiste plastique qui centre son travail sur la photographie argentique de biens d'artisanat et d'industrie, puis la photographie de cartes Michelin à différentes échelles et sous différents angles, la peinture de portraits de travailleurs, le montage vidéo...
La carte et le territoire porte sur la vie dépouillée de Jed Martin et de son entourage, de plus en plus réduit. Récit sur la relation entre l'humanité et le travail, c'est aussi une sorte de témoignage des évolutions de fond en France et dans l'Europe occidentale des années 60 aux années 2010.
MON AVIS
Houellebecq narrateur me plaît plus quand il porte son attention sur les choses du quotidien (Jean-Pierre Pernaut, Julien Lepers, le chauffe-eau, les produits d'utilisation courante) que lorsqu'il fait porter un jugement impitoyablement critique à ses personnages sur tout, leur fait vaguement déplorer un passé qu'ils n'ont pas connu et regretter un futur qu'il ne connaîtront pas.
D'un autre côté je me dis que c'est le propos de Houellebecq de donner une espèce de bilan de la relation des Français ou des Européens de l'ouest au travail aujourd'hui... Mais je trouve ça quand même misérabiliste, un peu.
Ce qui me plaît essentiellement, ce sont les passages où Jed écoute son attrait pour la photographie, pour la peinture, puis le montage, sans trop y réfléchir. Finalement, j'éprouve plus d'intérêt pour la description que pour l'analyse.
QUELQUES THÈMES EN BREF :
=> Des relations familiales inexistantes et la faillite de la communication entre les gens
=> La perte de but, la perte de sens de la vie humaine chez une humanité qui navigue à vue, d'orientations vagues en enthousiasmes médiocres, vers la déréliction totale.
Avec le contrepoint indispensable, l'élément inévitable des intrigues Houellebecq : la rencontre amoureuse inespérée. Et l'analyse sociologique.
Puis vient la description, obligée, de la décrépitude sexuelle si chère à l'auteur. Avec la complaisance dans le malheur du personnage principal qui l'accompagne.
=> Réflexion sur le travail et comme il définit l'homme.
Un regard attentif et insistant est porté sur le matériel : jusque dans la mise au point d'un meurtre (à vous de découvrir la victime), ce sont des outils de travail de précision qui sont utilisés.
Tous les personnages sont définis par rapport à leur travail, et leur vision du monde découle de la pratique d'un métier.
Jed rencontre Michel Houellebecq. Il lui proposer d'écrire le texte d'un catalogue d'exposition. Au cours de leurs discussions, ils s'entendent pour dire que le bonheur de l'homme contemporain est fonction directe du rapport familier qu'il entretient avec ses produits favoris. En plaçant l'homme face à des produits toujours changeants, c'est l'homme qu'on déracine.
A mesure que l'intrigue avance, les personnages ont une relation de plus en plus personnelle aux biens qui les environnent. Une sorte d'affirmation du besoin d'appartenance, quand il serait associé aux biens, et plus aux personnes ? "Nous aussi nous sommes des produits"
=> Survol de théories architecturales, l'esprit qui préside à la conception des lieux de vie :
On oppose la réussite de l'école Arts & Crafts de William Morris à la faillite de Fourier, et à celle du Bauhaus qui s'est abîmé dans le grand capitalisme industriel. On lui oppose aussi les machines à habiter du Corbusier et les surfaces neutres et modulables de Mies Van der Röhe.
Le père de Jed, qui travaille comme membre d'un cabinet d'architecte, est aussi créateur en rêve d'architectures utopiques, qui restent au stade d'esquisses et d'ébauches, refusées par tous les commanditaires. Il défend une conception organique et recluse de l'architecture, au rebours des écoles fonctionnalistes dominantes.
=> En parallèle, Jed témoigne de la disparition des lieux de sociabilité traditionnels et de modes de vie qui leur étaient attachés :
Par quoi remplacer ces lieux désuets ?...
On appréciera ou pas.
=> Enfin, des pronostics sur l'avenir de la France que Jed prophétise comme un pays où l'économie serait de plus en plus essentiellement agricole et touristique.
=> Le regard artistique porté sur les outils et la culture matérielle :
Le lecteur suit les différents périodes dans la maturation de l'art de Jed. Ça commence par la photographie d'objets d'artisanat et de pièces mécaniques, puis Jed réhabilite la carte comme objet d'art, dans une série de photographies où le référent et le référé se mêlent et où la carte se révèle un paysage plus riche que le paysage qu'elle figure, passe au portrait peint de travailleurs, au montage vidéo... L'œuvre finale de Jed porte sur l'entropie et la mort de l'industrie, superpose les couches et les échelles.
La carte et le territoire porte sur la représentation et son sujet, la relation entre le référent, le signifiant, le signifié.
Le regard, l'approche.
Son œuvre entière passe des pièces métalliques à la perfection formelle, image de l'éternité, à son montage à l'entropie. (en réaction à l'immobilisme du père ?)
... À moins que les forêts de la carte Michelin ne soient déjà les végétations triomphantes qui s'avancent, se répandent et recouvrent l'espace où se trouvaient les communes du passé.
=> L'autopromotion comique de Houellebecq par Houellebecq et aussi de F. Beigbeder.
Les deux écrivains sont des personnages de La carte et le territoire, qui met en scène une version de leur vie privée et sentimentale.
=> Enfin, peut-être que c'est la lecture à 3h00 du matin, mais j'ai cru relever de petits clins d'œil à toi, lecteur qui te renseigne sur internet : une mention de scorpions dans l'Yonne suit de près une référence à Alfred de Vigny (auteur d'un petit texte sur un comportement suicidaire des scorpions écrit préface à Chatterton). Et le nom de Thierry Jonquet est suivi de mygales, quand le texte le plus lu de cet auteur s'intitule... devinez.
LIVRES PROCHES :
Les Nymphéas noirs, avec son duo policier, le milieu de l'art, l'étrange abolition du temps qui est commune aux villages de Souppes et de Giverny
Quelques numéros de la revue 303, avec un nombre surprenant de thèmes communs à La carte et le territoire :
https://www.editions303.com/le-catalo...
https://www.editions303.com/le-catalo...
https://www.editions303.com/le-catalo...
https://www.editions303.com/le-catalo...
https://www.editions303.com/le-catalo...
SONS :
Organic - Philip Glass
Trailer du film Koyaanisqatsi :
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1jM2W...
La carte et le territoire porte sur la vie dépouillée de Jed Martin et de son entourage, de plus en plus réduit. Récit sur la relation entre l'humanité et le travail, c'est aussi une sorte de témoignage des évolutions de fond en France et dans l'Europe occidentale des années 60 aux années 2010.
MON AVIS
Houellebecq narrateur me plaît plus quand il porte son attention sur les choses du quotidien (Jean-Pierre Pernaut, Julien Lepers, le chauffe-eau, les produits d'utilisation courante) que lorsqu'il fait porter un jugement impitoyablement critique à ses personnages sur tout, leur fait vaguement déplorer un passé qu'ils n'ont pas connu et regretter un futur qu'il ne connaîtront pas.
D'un autre côté je me dis que c'est le propos de Houellebecq de donner une espèce de bilan de la relation des Français ou des Européens de l'ouest au travail aujourd'hui... Mais je trouve ça quand même misérabiliste, un peu.
Ce qui me plaît essentiellement, ce sont les passages où Jed écoute son attrait pour la photographie, pour la peinture, puis le montage, sans trop y réfléchir. Finalement, j'éprouve plus d'intérêt pour la description que pour l'analyse.
QUELQUES THÈMES EN BREF :
=> Des relations familiales inexistantes et la faillite de la communication entre les gens
=> La perte de but, la perte de sens de la vie humaine chez une humanité qui navigue à vue, d'orientations vagues en enthousiasmes médiocres, vers la déréliction totale.
Avec le contrepoint indispensable, l'élément inévitable des intrigues Houellebecq : la rencontre amoureuse inespérée. Et l'analyse sociologique.
'Même dans ces conditions, se dit Jed, ils pouvaient s'attendre de la part des hôteliers à un accueil privilégié : jeune couple urbain sans enfants, esthétiquement très décoratif, encore dans la première phase de l'amour - et de ce fait prompts à s'émerveiller de tout, dans l'espoir de se constituer une réserve de beaux souvenirs qui leur serviraient au moment d'aborder les années difficiles, qui leur permettraient peut-être de surmonter une crise dans leur couple - ils représentaient, pour tout professionnel de l'hôtellerie-restauration, l'archétype des clients idéaux.'(p.92-93)
Puis vient la description, obligée, de la décrépitude sexuelle si chère à l'auteur. Avec la complaisance dans le malheur du personnage principal qui l'accompagne.
'Jed n'était pas jeune, il ne l'avait à proprement parler jamais été ; mais il était un être humain relativement inexpérimenté. En matière d'êtres humains il ne connaissait que son père, et encore pas beaucoup. Cette fréquentation ne pouvait pas l'inciter à un grand optimisme, en matière de relations humaines. Pour ce qu'il avait pu en observer, l'existence des hommes s'organisait autour du travail, qui occupait la plus grande partie de la vie, et s'accomplissait dans des organisations de dimension variable. À l'issue des années de travail s'ouvrait une période plus brève, marquée par le développement de différentes pathologies. Certains êtres humains, pensant la période la plus active de leur vie, tentaient en outre de s'associer dans des micro-regroupements, qualifiés de familles, ayant pour but la reproduction de l'espèce ; mais ces tentatives, le plus souvent, tournaient court, pour des raisons liées à la "nature des temps", se disait-il vaguement en partageant un expresso avec son amante.'(p.102-103)
'Olga était douce, elle était douce et aimante, Olga l'aimait, se répéta-t-il avec une tristesse croissante en même temps qu'il réalisait que plus rien n'aurait lieu entre eux, ne pourrait plus jamais avoir lieu entre eux, la vie vous offre une chance parfois se dit-il mais lorsqu'on est trop lâche ou trop indécis pour la saisir la vie reprend ses cartes, il y a un moment pour faire les choses et pour entrer dans un bonheur possible, ce moment dure quelques jours, parfois quelques semaines ou même quelques mois mais il ne se produit qu'une fois et une seule, et si l'on veut y revenir plus tard c'est tout simplement impossible, il n'y a plus de place pour l'enthousiasme, la croyance et la foi, demeure une résignation douce, une pitié réciproque et attristée, la sensation inutile et juste que quelque chose aurait pu avoir lieu, qu'on s'est simplement montré indigne du don qui vous avait été fait.'(p.242)
'Marqué sans doute par les idées en vogue dans sa génération, [Jasselin] avait jusque là considéré la sexualité comme une puissance positive, une source d'union qui augmentait la concorde entre les humains par les voies du plaisir partagé. Il y voyait au contraire maintenant de plus en plus souvent la lutte, le combat brutal pour la domination, l'élimination du rival et la multiplication hasardeuse des coïts sans aucune raison d'être que d'assurer une propagation maximale aux gènes. Il y voyait la source de tout conflit, de tout massacre, de toute souffrance. La sexualité lui apparaissait de plus en plus comme la manifestation la plus directe et la plus évidente du mal.'(p.293)
=> Réflexion sur le travail et comme il définit l'homme.
Un regard attentif et insistant est porté sur le matériel : jusque dans la mise au point d'un meurtre (à vous de découvrir la victime), ce sont des outils de travail de précision qui sont utilisés.
Tous les personnages sont définis par rapport à leur travail, et leur vision du monde découle de la pratique d'un métier.
Jed rencontre Michel Houellebecq. Il lui proposer d'écrire le texte d'un catalogue d'exposition. Au cours de leurs discussions, ils s'entendent pour dire que le bonheur de l'homme contemporain est fonction directe du rapport familier qu'il entretient avec ses produits favoris. En plaçant l'homme face à des produits toujours changeants, c'est l'homme qu'on déracine.
A mesure que l'intrigue avance, les personnages ont une relation de plus en plus personnelle aux biens qui les environnent. Une sorte d'affirmation du besoin d'appartenance, quand il serait associé aux biens, et plus aux personnes ? "Nous aussi nous sommes des produits"
=> Survol de théories architecturales, l'esprit qui préside à la conception des lieux de vie :
On oppose la réussite de l'école Arts & Crafts de William Morris à la faillite de Fourier, et à celle du Bauhaus qui s'est abîmé dans le grand capitalisme industriel. On lui oppose aussi les machines à habiter du Corbusier et les surfaces neutres et modulables de Mies Van der Röhe.
Le père de Jed, qui travaille comme membre d'un cabinet d'architecte, est aussi créateur en rêve d'architectures utopiques, qui restent au stade d'esquisses et d'ébauches, refusées par tous les commanditaires. Il défend une conception organique et recluse de l'architecture, au rebours des écoles fonctionnalistes dominantes.
=> En parallèle, Jed témoigne de la disparition des lieux de sociabilité traditionnels et de modes de vie qui leur étaient attachés :
'En chemin vers sa galerie rue de Domrémy (...), ils s'arrêtèrent pour boire quelque chose Chez Claude, rue du Château-des-Rentiers, qui devait plus tard devenir leur café habituel, et fournir à Jed l'occasion de son deuxième tableau de la "série des métiers simples". L'établissement s'obstinait à servir des ballons de rouge ordinaire et des sandwiches pâté-cornichons aux derniers retraités "couches populaires" du XIIIe arrondissement. Ils mourraient un par un, avec méthode, sans être remplacés par de nouveaux clients.(p.109)
"J'ai lu dans un article que, depuis la fin de la Seconde Guerre Mondiale, 80% des cafés avaient disparu en France" remarqua Franz en jetant un coup d'œil circulaire sur l'établissement. (...) "Les gens se sont mis à déjeuner en une demi-heure, à boire de moins en moins d'alcool aussi ; et puis, le coup de grâce, ça a été l'interdiction de fumer.'
Par quoi remplacer ces lieux désuets ?...
'Il savait que l'écrivain partageait son goût pour la grande distribution, la vraie distribution aimait-il à dire, que comme lui il appellait de ses vœux, dans un futur plus ou moins utopique et lointain, la fusion des différentes chaînes de magasins dans un hypermarché total, qui recouvrirait l'ensemble des besoins humains.'(p.191).
On appréciera ou pas.
=> Enfin, des pronostics sur l'avenir de la France que Jed prophétise comme un pays où l'économie serait de plus en plus essentiellement agricole et touristique.
=> Le regard artistique porté sur les outils et la culture matérielle :
Le lecteur suit les différents périodes dans la maturation de l'art de Jed. Ça commence par la photographie d'objets d'artisanat et de pièces mécaniques, puis Jed réhabilite la carte comme objet d'art, dans une série de photographies où le référent et le référé se mêlent et où la carte se révèle un paysage plus riche que le paysage qu'elle figure, passe au portrait peint de travailleurs, au montage vidéo... L'œuvre finale de Jed porte sur l'entropie et la mort de l'industrie, superpose les couches et les échelles.
La carte et le territoire porte sur la représentation et son sujet, la relation entre le référent, le signifiant, le signifié.
Le regard, l'approche.
Son œuvre entière passe des pièces métalliques à la perfection formelle, image de l'éternité, à son montage à l'entropie. (en réaction à l'immobilisme du père ?)
... À moins que les forêts de la carte Michelin ne soient déjà les végétations triomphantes qui s'avancent, se répandent et recouvrent l'espace où se trouvaient les communes du passé.
=> L'autopromotion comique de Houellebecq par Houellebecq et aussi de F. Beigbeder.
Les deux écrivains sont des personnages de La carte et le territoire, qui met en scène une version de leur vie privée et sentimentale.
=> Enfin, peut-être que c'est la lecture à 3h00 du matin, mais j'ai cru relever de petits clins d'œil à toi, lecteur qui te renseigne sur internet : une mention de scorpions dans l'Yonne suit de près une référence à Alfred de Vigny (auteur d'un petit texte sur un comportement suicidaire des scorpions écrit préface à Chatterton). Et le nom de Thierry Jonquet est suivi de mygales, quand le texte le plus lu de cet auteur s'intitule... devinez.
LIVRES PROCHES :
Les Nymphéas noirs, avec son duo policier, le milieu de l'art, l'étrange abolition du temps qui est commune aux villages de Souppes et de Giverny
Quelques numéros de la revue 303, avec un nombre surprenant de thèmes communs à La carte et le territoire :
https://www.editions303.com/le-catalo...
https://www.editions303.com/le-catalo...
https://www.editions303.com/le-catalo...
https://www.editions303.com/le-catalo...
https://www.editions303.com/le-catalo...
SONS :
Organic - Philip Glass
Trailer du film Koyaanisqatsi :
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1jM2W...
August 27, 2023
Çok yönlü bir çağdaş Fransız sanatçısı olan Houellebecq’in oldukça farklı, hatta ayrıksı bir romanı. Çok zeki ve yaratıcı bir yazar. Bu romanının kahramanlarından birisini kendisi olarak seçmiş, benzer muzipliği bilinen bazı edebiyatçı ve tanınmış kişileri romanına ekleyerek de yapmış. İncelemeleri oldukça ayrıntılı, adeta Perec’e öykünerek yapmış tanımlamalarını.
İlk İngiliz sosyalistlerinden William Morris’i, onun sanatçının yapıtını üretmesindeki bakış açısını sanayi ve tarım gibi diğer alanlardaki üretimlere de uygulama gibi düşüncelerini özgün bir biçimde anlatıyor. Çok çeşitli konulara değiniyor, çoğu da güncel konular. Resim ve fotoğraf sanatı ile edebiyat dünyasına ait çokça alıntı ve bilgi var.
Bir polis komiseri ile köpeği arasındaki benzerlikleri daha doğrusu kader birlikteliklerini anlatan bölümü beni benden aldı. 2010 da yayınlanan kitap Fransa’nın son çeyrek asrındaki köklü değişiklikleri anlatma çabası içinde. Kitap son bölümünde birden polisiye bir romana dönüşerek okuru tekrar şaşırtıyor. Romanın sonu da yazarın kendisi gibi gizemli ve tuhaf.
Yazarın yaratıcılığı ve anlatım dili çok etkileyici. Beğendim.
İlk İngiliz sosyalistlerinden William Morris’i, onun sanatçının yapıtını üretmesindeki bakış açısını sanayi ve tarım gibi diğer alanlardaki üretimlere de uygulama gibi düşüncelerini özgün bir biçimde anlatıyor. Çok çeşitli konulara değiniyor, çoğu da güncel konular. Resim ve fotoğraf sanatı ile edebiyat dünyasına ait çokça alıntı ve bilgi var.
Bir polis komiseri ile köpeği arasındaki benzerlikleri daha doğrusu kader birlikteliklerini anlatan bölümü beni benden aldı. 2010 da yayınlanan kitap Fransa’nın son çeyrek asrındaki köklü değişiklikleri anlatma çabası içinde. Kitap son bölümünde birden polisiye bir romana dönüşerek okuru tekrar şaşırtıyor. Romanın sonu da yazarın kendisi gibi gizemli ve tuhaf.
Yazarın yaratıcılığı ve anlatım dili çok etkileyici. Beğendim.
November 10, 2018
It was public knowledge that Houellebecq was a loner with strong misanthropic tendencies: it was rare for him even to say a word to his dog.
Martin Amis did it before, in Money, when he introduced himself, 'Martin Amis', as a character in the book. Houellebecq replays the conceit here, with a similar pretension and expanded role for himself. In the spirit of literary self-flagellation, in addition to the epitaph offered above, Houellebecq does horrible things to himself. I would be plot-spoiling to say more.
Yet the main character is not Houellebecq, but Jed Martin. Like Houellebecq's other protagonists, Jed has an ease with women despite himself and is utterly incapable of sustaining a relationship. The author Houellebecq does sex no better than the character Houellebecq:
"I . . ." he croaked. Olga turned around and noticed it was serious: she immediately recognized that blinded, panicked look of a man who can no longer withstand his desire. She made a few steps toward him, enveloped him with her voluptuous body, and kissed him on the lips.
230 pages in, the book becomes a murder mystery. Except it doesn't really.
I suppose you could dissect this. Jed first photographed still life, then machine parts. He has an epiphany and begins to photograph Michelin maps. This is how he made his first millions. It's how he meets the delightful Olga. And it's how we have the supposed theme of this book, printed in capital letters in case we missed the significance: THE MAP IS MORE INTERESTING THAN THE TERRITORY.
Not exactly ¿Le gusta este jardín, que es suyo? ¡Evite que sus hijos lo destruyan!, now is it?
Later he paints people in different professions. He paints Michael Houellebecq: Writer, of course. Houellebecq, the character, doesn't seem to care. I thought, then, that Houellebecq, the author, was giving me, the reader, direction.
This book has the same malaise, the same ennui as Houellebecq's earlier books. He just left out the sex this time. Instead, there was a gruesome murder. Which I was okay with. Especially because we learn photographs of the crime scene look like monochromatic Jackson Pollock paintings. But there was also a scene where Jed beats up a woman working in a Swiss Euthanasia clinic. Which really bothered me.
Martin Amis did it before, in Money, when he introduced himself, 'Martin Amis', as a character in the book. Houellebecq replays the conceit here, with a similar pretension and expanded role for himself. In the spirit of literary self-flagellation, in addition to the epitaph offered above, Houellebecq does horrible things to himself. I would be plot-spoiling to say more.
Yet the main character is not Houellebecq, but Jed Martin. Like Houellebecq's other protagonists, Jed has an ease with women despite himself and is utterly incapable of sustaining a relationship. The author Houellebecq does sex no better than the character Houellebecq:
"I . . ." he croaked. Olga turned around and noticed it was serious: she immediately recognized that blinded, panicked look of a man who can no longer withstand his desire. She made a few steps toward him, enveloped him with her voluptuous body, and kissed him on the lips.
230 pages in, the book becomes a murder mystery. Except it doesn't really.
I suppose you could dissect this. Jed first photographed still life, then machine parts. He has an epiphany and begins to photograph Michelin maps. This is how he made his first millions. It's how he meets the delightful Olga. And it's how we have the supposed theme of this book, printed in capital letters in case we missed the significance: THE MAP IS MORE INTERESTING THAN THE TERRITORY.
Not exactly ¿Le gusta este jardín, que es suyo? ¡Evite que sus hijos lo destruyan!, now is it?
Later he paints people in different professions. He paints Michael Houellebecq: Writer, of course. Houellebecq, the character, doesn't seem to care. I thought, then, that Houellebecq, the author, was giving me, the reader, direction.
This book has the same malaise, the same ennui as Houellebecq's earlier books. He just left out the sex this time. Instead, there was a gruesome murder. Which I was okay with. Especially because we learn photographs of the crime scene look like monochromatic Jackson Pollock paintings. But there was also a scene where Jed beats up a woman working in a Swiss Euthanasia clinic. Which really bothered me.
June 25, 2022
بورخس در داستانِ تکپاراگرافیاش به نامِ درباب دقت در کار علم، از قلمرویی خیالی میگوید که در آنجا فن نقشهکشی به چنان کمالی رسیده که نقشهکشهای امپراتوری تصمیم میگیرند نقشهای با مقیاس ۱:۱ طراحی کنند؛ یعنی نقشهای به اندازهی قلمرو. پس از طراحی و ساختن نقشه، نسلهای بعدی که نقشهای به آن بزرگی را مایهی زحمت میدانند، با بیتوجهی نقشه را به دست باد و باران رها میکنند و امروزه دیگر در آن امپراتوری نشانهای از دانش نقشهبرداری نمانده است. اوایل کتاب چیزی که باعث مشغولیت ذهنم شد و تا به حال به آن فکر نکرده بودم، عنوان کتاب بود. نقشه با قلمرو چه تفاوتی داره؟ بعد از اینکه ژد مارتن عنوان نمایشگاهش را "نقشه از قلمرو مهمتر است" میگذارد، فکر میکردم در زیرینترین لایهی رمان، همه چیز به رابطهی نقشه و قلمرو ربط پیدا میکند؛ اما عنوان کتاب و بهتبع آن نمایشگاه، همانجا دفن شد و ارتباطی بین نقشهوقلمرو پیدا نکردم. پل والری میگوید "هر چیزِ ساده، نادرست است و هر چیزی که پیچیده است، به درد نخور." هرچه نقشه دقیق تر باشد، بیشتر به قلمرو شباهت دارد. دقیق ترین نقشهیِ ممکن، قلمرو خواهد بود و بنابراین کاملا دقیق و کاملا بیفایده خواهد بود. بعد به مقالهی اومبرتو اکو به نام"اندر احوالات غیر ممکن بودن ترسیم یک نقشه" رسیدم و موضوع روشنتر شد. برای من بزرگترین لطف خواندن این کتاب آشنا شدن با مفهوم و تفاوت نقشه و قلمرو بود. و اما خود رمان؛ به غیر از ژد، از بین شخصیتهای مهم رمان -یعنی پدرِ ژد، اولگا، اوئلبک و کمیسر، فقط پدر و اوئلبک باورپذیر بودند. رابطهی ژد و اولگا هیچ چفتوبستی نداشت. یک سومِ پایانی هم اصلا متوجه نشدم که چرا انقدر به افکار و زندگی کمیسر پرداخته! انگار که میشل اوئلبک فقط به فکر کش دادن کتاب بوده
July 2, 2018
Πόσο ποζεράς και τρολ αυτός ο Ουελμπέκ
Έβαλε τον εαυτό του σε β ρόλο (στο βιβλίο) και όχι σε μονοπρόσωπη αφήγηση, αλλά κανονικά διηγείται σε τρίτο πρόσωπο και τσουπ να τος και ο ίδιος ο Ουελμπέκ σε β ρόλο τον οποίο σκοτώνουν με βίαιο τρόπο.
Δεν ξέρω τι ήθελε να πει ο ποιητής, κάτι ίσως για το τι είναι τέχνη, τι είναι ο άνθρωπος, γιατί αυτό το βιβλίο πήρε το βραβείο Goncourt, εμένα τα φασολάκια μου αρέσουν με φέτα και φρέσκο ψωμί, εσάς ;
Έβαλε τον εαυτό του σε β ρόλο (στο βιβλίο) και όχι σε μονοπρόσωπη αφήγηση, αλλά κανονικά διηγείται σε τρίτο πρόσωπο και τσουπ να τος και ο ίδιος ο Ουελμπέκ σε β ρόλο τον οποίο σκοτώνουν με βίαιο τρόπο.
Δεν ξέρω τι ήθελε να πει ο ποιητής, κάτι ίσως για το τι είναι τέχνη, τι είναι ο άνθρωπος, γιατί αυτό το βιβλίο πήρε το βραβείο Goncourt, εμένα τα φασολάκια μου αρέσουν με φέτα και φρέσκο ψωμί, εσάς ;
May 15, 2021
Într-un Occident în autodisoluție, Houellebecq, printr-o tehnică narativă inedită, devine el însuși personaj obiectiv, ajungând să descrie, într-o lucrare de ficțiune, propria-i moarte (și nu e chiar spoiler, că nu vorbim de Punguța cu doi bani sau alte povești). :)
La fel ca în celălalte romane ale sale, ne înfățișează, de această dată în mod nemanifest, simulacrul societății Occidentale, care se complace într-un egoism autodistrugător.
15 mai 2021
La fel ca în celălalte romane ale sale, ne înfățișează, de această dată în mod nemanifest, simulacrul societății Occidentale, care se complace într-un egoism autodistrugător.
15 mai 2021
January 19, 2013
I read The Map and the Territory because Jeffrey Eugenides admitted *he* was reading in in a NYT interview.
No surprise why masterful American novelists would want to read this. The author, Michel Houellebecq, is unabashedly and unashamedly literary and intellectual. No doubt there's a certain penis envy in admiring a Gallic author who can be so brazen as to simply drop trou and masturbate with his mind for us all to watch. Those of us on this side of the pond who fret about novels and commercialism and fads and attention spans and the general lack of receptiveness for ideas must surely Jones for the opportunity to wax philosophical and not only get away with it, but also actually sell books.
This is the story of a fine artist, Jed Martin, and the rationale behind various distinct phases of his work. It is also a policier, a procedural, about a ghastly murder. One connection is that the murder was performed in such a way as to create a work of art. This second story has very little to do with the main plot line of Jed's work life. Jed's difficult relationship with his aging master-architect father is a subplot upon which many heady sub-themes are hung, including the history and philosophy of architecture, the relationship between habitation and quality of life, and no less than the fate of civilization.
In perhaps the most stunning stroke of hubris in a work chockful of it, occurring some way into the narrative so it's a surprise when it comes, Houellebecq makes himself a principal character. By name. The relationship between life and art is open to question - that is, between the physical description of the French novelist, his eccentricities, and his volatile temperament. The Houellebecq in the narrative is not what you'd call a nice person and certainly not someone you'd probably consider taking on as a friend. The author seems proud he's alienating you, else why talk so unashamedly of his body odor and atrocious manners?
Martin's life is well-to-do Parisian, but mundane. He has an extended affair, off and on, with a Russian media executive named Olga. She is one hot babe, apparently, but even she can't hold his interest. She did abandon him for a time, and perhaps an infantile ego can never forgive the ultimate insult of abandonment.
I'm somewhat mystified. I may reread it someday to study what I missed on first reading, which is probably a lot.
This is the first Houellebecq novel I've read, so I am curious to investigate the others. I read in other reviews this isn't the one to start with. Ah, well. Houellebecq would no doubt approve.
I do know that, based on his descriptions, I would love to visit a showing of Martin's paintings. I expect they would be photorealistic and iconic - reminiscent, say, of Chinese Communist propaganda posters. One of the delights of the book is imagining what these fictional works would look like. If they have an analog in the real world, I'd love to know it.
No surprise why masterful American novelists would want to read this. The author, Michel Houellebecq, is unabashedly and unashamedly literary and intellectual. No doubt there's a certain penis envy in admiring a Gallic author who can be so brazen as to simply drop trou and masturbate with his mind for us all to watch. Those of us on this side of the pond who fret about novels and commercialism and fads and attention spans and the general lack of receptiveness for ideas must surely Jones for the opportunity to wax philosophical and not only get away with it, but also actually sell books.
This is the story of a fine artist, Jed Martin, and the rationale behind various distinct phases of his work. It is also a policier, a procedural, about a ghastly murder. One connection is that the murder was performed in such a way as to create a work of art. This second story has very little to do with the main plot line of Jed's work life. Jed's difficult relationship with his aging master-architect father is a subplot upon which many heady sub-themes are hung, including the history and philosophy of architecture, the relationship between habitation and quality of life, and no less than the fate of civilization.
In perhaps the most stunning stroke of hubris in a work chockful of it, occurring some way into the narrative so it's a surprise when it comes, Houellebecq makes himself a principal character. By name. The relationship between life and art is open to question - that is, between the physical description of the French novelist, his eccentricities, and his volatile temperament. The Houellebecq in the narrative is not what you'd call a nice person and certainly not someone you'd probably consider taking on as a friend. The author seems proud he's alienating you, else why talk so unashamedly of his body odor and atrocious manners?
Martin's life is well-to-do Parisian, but mundane. He has an extended affair, off and on, with a Russian media executive named Olga. She is one hot babe, apparently, but even she can't hold his interest. She did abandon him for a time, and perhaps an infantile ego can never forgive the ultimate insult of abandonment.
I'm somewhat mystified. I may reread it someday to study what I missed on first reading, which is probably a lot.
This is the first Houellebecq novel I've read, so I am curious to investigate the others. I read in other reviews this isn't the one to start with. Ah, well. Houellebecq would no doubt approve.
I do know that, based on his descriptions, I would love to visit a showing of Martin's paintings. I expect they would be photorealistic and iconic - reminiscent, say, of Chinese Communist propaganda posters. One of the delights of the book is imagining what these fictional works would look like. If they have an analog in the real world, I'd love to know it.
August 11, 2017
Né per la trama né per lo stile. La prima non è omogenea, il secondo è, come sempre, inessenziale ai limiti dello sciatto. Ma qui la visione di Houellebecq, più autoironica, più stanca, più quietamente dolorosa del solito, completamente priva del sesso disperato o della furia apocalittica degli altri romanzi, ne esce come purificata, quasi distillata, raggiungendo un apice mai sfiorato prima. Per la prima volta, mi sembra, Houellebecq stabilisce, pur nel suo solito distacco anaffettivo ed entomologico, un'empatia profonda, toccante, con le umanissime disumanità che descrive, siano cose o persone come le figure del padre o dello scrittore Beigbeder. Numerose intuizioni sociologiche e narrative di gran livello buttate lì con nonchalance autentica, altri ne avrebbero tratto materia per almeno cinque libri, lui non si preoccupa nemmeno di costruirci sopra più di tanto una storia che le contenga. Che spreco grandioso. Questo libro lascia un'eco che risuona a lungo, muta, dentro di noi. Non possiamo darle accoglienza e farla nostra perché è troppo dolorosa, perché non potremmo vivere dopo, ma la vibrazione che ci lascia tremanti, spossati, la riconosciamo atterriti con ogni intima fibra, sappiamo in fondo, istintivamente, che è vera. 'L'amore… L'amore è raro. Non lo sapeva? Non glielo avevano mai detto?'
November 16, 2019
" έπειτα όλα ηρεμούν,δεν απομένουν παρά μόνο χόρτα που σείονται από τον άνεμο."
January 15, 2012
Debía llevar más de un lustro quejándome que Michel Houellebecq se repetía más que el ajo, que siempre hacía la misma novela y que parecía que escribiera con el piloto automático, casi como si estuviera parodiando la imagen pública de si mismo, repitiendo hasta la extenuación una fórmula que parecía funcionarle sin aportar nada nuevo. Así que os podréis imaginar cuál fue mi excitación cuando empezaron a salir críticas de ‘El mapa y el territorio’ que lo ponían por las nubes, diciendo que Houellebecq había madurado, que había dado un nuevo giro a su carrera y que ésta era su obra más personal. No discuto las dos primeras afirmaciones. Sí, Houellebecq toma un nuevo camino y se podría decir que ha madurado, pero también voy a decir que esto también quiere decir que se ha vuelto un soso aburrido. Ahora bien, ‘El mapa y el territorio’ me ha parecido su obra más impersonal. Es más, diré que es cuando Houellebecq se ha vuelto menos Houellebecq que más le han premiado y más le han alabado, porque sé que es una frase/idea que a él le gustaría. En el fondo, le tengo un cariño extraño a Houellebecq. Cierto, muchas veces lo odio, pero no deja de ser un odio lleno de ternura.
Mi historia con Houellebecq empieza cuando estaba a punto de acabar la carrera y estaba leyendo su primera novela ‘Ampliación del campo de batalla’. Puede que la leyera en el momento adecuado, pero me llegó como nunca me había llegado ningún otro autor vivo (David Foster Wallace llegaría más tarde); el tedio, el asco y la alienación que sentía el protagonista ante la existencia, era el mismo que sentía yo. Y estas cosas marcan. Especialmente cuando eres joven. Así que quedé ligada a él para siempre. ‘Las partículas elementales’ no me pareció tan grande, pero me gustó, aunque me temo que si la re-leyera ahora me decepcionaría. Luego leí todas las que siguieron: ‘Plataforma’, ‘La posibilidad de una isla’ y ‘Lanzarote’. Y es lo que os decía al principio: me parecieron todas iguales y olvidables (quizás la única que salvaría sería ‘Lanzarote’, pero sólo porque era la más corta). Y ahora ‘El mapa y el territorio’ aún me ha gustado menos, pero sé que cuando saque una nueva novela voy a leerla. Las relaciones entre lectores y escritores siempre son complejas y la mía con Houellebecq lo es particularmente. Nunca se ha extinguido esa sensación de que me entiende y que si me conociera podría ver a través de mis múltiples máscaras con una sola ojeada. Y egocéntrica como soy, tengo la pretensión que yo también lo entiendo y que cazo sus trucos de escritor, sus trampas y su cartón. Os lo he advertido, es extraño: lo amo y lo odio, quizás porque me parezco más a él (o a su personaje) de lo que me gustaría.
En ‘El mapa y el territorio’, el personaje que más me ha gustado y con el que más he empatizado ha sido la caldera. En serio. Lo más emocionante ha sido descubrir si la caldera, que lanza extraños gruñidos, va a estropearse o no; su lucha por la supervivencia me ha emocionado. Por otra parte, los personajes de carne y hueso me han importado un comino. Y eso que salía el propio Houellebecq como personaje, pero ni así. A ver, la novela es una especie de biografía de un artista, pero en ningún momento me llegó a interesarme ni su vida ni su obra. Es un alienado, como todos los personajes de Houellebecq, pero es que su alienación no tenía nada de particular ni de remarcable; parecía escrito con desgana, nunca llegué a sentir lo que sentía él (yo misma me pregunto si será por qué ya no siento esta misma alienación o por qué la siento ya demasiado).
Pensé que la cosa se animaría cuando saliera Michel Houellebecq como personaje, pero ni así. Su personaje es demasiado personaje, demasiado tópico; se trata de una oportunidad desaprovechada, esperaba más ironía, más mala leche. Luego se produce un crimen y pensé que así se animaría el cotarro, pero ni así. El crimen sólo sirve para que salgan más personajes igual de planos que todos los demás. Sí, Houellebecq aprovecha para insinuar alguna que otra teoría sobre el arte y analizar/criticar el sistema capitalista, pero todo de una forma muy previsible y nada interesante. Esperaba más sarcasmo y más mala leche. ¿He dicho ya que todo demasiado plano? En ocasiones habrá alguna idea brillante y algún párrafo memorable, pero es todo muy escaso.
Volvamos a la caldera. No lo decía en broma cuando decía que la parte que más me ha gustado es la de la caldera, cuando la caldera amenaza de estropearse definitivamente y cuando el protagonista busca alguien que pueda venir a arreglarla pero no encuentra a nadie. ¿Por qué? Pues porque es algo con lo que puedo identificarme. Así de simple. El resto de la novela cae tan lejos de mi experiencia y mis intereses que no me importa un pimiento. Pero tampoco es esto: un escritor puede relatar algo totalmente alejado a mí pero hacérmelo cercano. Simplemente Houellebecq para mí no lo consigue en esta novela. Claro que me interesa el arte, claro que mi padre también murió, pero la forma en que está tratado en este libro, no me interesa nada, me parece todo demasiado superficial, tópico, previsible, manido. Es como si Houellebecq escribiera con desgana. Y aún así, voy a leerme la próxima novela que publique.
Debería ya estar acostumbrada a que todas las mujeres que salen en los libros de Houellebecq se note tantísimo que han sido escritas por un hombre. Son planas a más no poder y generalmente encarnan el mito de la santa-puta, es decir, una mujer que es muy buena y muy generosa y muy guapa y en la cama muy puta. Cada cual es libre de tener las fantasías que quiera pero otra cosa es estamparla una y otra vez en todas tus novelas para que los lectores una y otra vez tengan que tragársela. Es por eso que cuando escribo algo de ficción más o menos en serio intento centrarme sólo en personajes femeninos. También debería ya estar acostumbrada que en cualquier momento una novela de Houellebecq sienta el deseo de convertirse en ensayo, pero es que no me ha interesado nada las aventuras de utópicos relacionados con los pre-rafaelitas y es que, además, estas reflexiones están inseridas con calzador. Pero lo más descarado es cuando se me pone a explicarme cosas como la historia de no sé que raza de perros. Parece que me haya hecho un “corta y pega” de la wikipedia. Y aún así, voy a leerme la próxima novela que publique.
Mi historia con Houellebecq empieza cuando estaba a punto de acabar la carrera y estaba leyendo su primera novela ‘Ampliación del campo de batalla’. Puede que la leyera en el momento adecuado, pero me llegó como nunca me había llegado ningún otro autor vivo (David Foster Wallace llegaría más tarde); el tedio, el asco y la alienación que sentía el protagonista ante la existencia, era el mismo que sentía yo. Y estas cosas marcan. Especialmente cuando eres joven. Así que quedé ligada a él para siempre. ‘Las partículas elementales’ no me pareció tan grande, pero me gustó, aunque me temo que si la re-leyera ahora me decepcionaría. Luego leí todas las que siguieron: ‘Plataforma’, ‘La posibilidad de una isla’ y ‘Lanzarote’. Y es lo que os decía al principio: me parecieron todas iguales y olvidables (quizás la única que salvaría sería ‘Lanzarote’, pero sólo porque era la más corta). Y ahora ‘El mapa y el territorio’ aún me ha gustado menos, pero sé que cuando saque una nueva novela voy a leerla. Las relaciones entre lectores y escritores siempre son complejas y la mía con Houellebecq lo es particularmente. Nunca se ha extinguido esa sensación de que me entiende y que si me conociera podría ver a través de mis múltiples máscaras con una sola ojeada. Y egocéntrica como soy, tengo la pretensión que yo también lo entiendo y que cazo sus trucos de escritor, sus trampas y su cartón. Os lo he advertido, es extraño: lo amo y lo odio, quizás porque me parezco más a él (o a su personaje) de lo que me gustaría.
En ‘El mapa y el territorio’, el personaje que más me ha gustado y con el que más he empatizado ha sido la caldera. En serio. Lo más emocionante ha sido descubrir si la caldera, que lanza extraños gruñidos, va a estropearse o no; su lucha por la supervivencia me ha emocionado. Por otra parte, los personajes de carne y hueso me han importado un comino. Y eso que salía el propio Houellebecq como personaje, pero ni así. A ver, la novela es una especie de biografía de un artista, pero en ningún momento me llegó a interesarme ni su vida ni su obra. Es un alienado, como todos los personajes de Houellebecq, pero es que su alienación no tenía nada de particular ni de remarcable; parecía escrito con desgana, nunca llegué a sentir lo que sentía él (yo misma me pregunto si será por qué ya no siento esta misma alienación o por qué la siento ya demasiado).
Pensé que la cosa se animaría cuando saliera Michel Houellebecq como personaje, pero ni así. Su personaje es demasiado personaje, demasiado tópico; se trata de una oportunidad desaprovechada, esperaba más ironía, más mala leche. Luego se produce un crimen y pensé que así se animaría el cotarro, pero ni así. El crimen sólo sirve para que salgan más personajes igual de planos que todos los demás. Sí, Houellebecq aprovecha para insinuar alguna que otra teoría sobre el arte y analizar/criticar el sistema capitalista, pero todo de una forma muy previsible y nada interesante. Esperaba más sarcasmo y más mala leche. ¿He dicho ya que todo demasiado plano? En ocasiones habrá alguna idea brillante y algún párrafo memorable, pero es todo muy escaso.
Volvamos a la caldera. No lo decía en broma cuando decía que la parte que más me ha gustado es la de la caldera, cuando la caldera amenaza de estropearse definitivamente y cuando el protagonista busca alguien que pueda venir a arreglarla pero no encuentra a nadie. ¿Por qué? Pues porque es algo con lo que puedo identificarme. Así de simple. El resto de la novela cae tan lejos de mi experiencia y mis intereses que no me importa un pimiento. Pero tampoco es esto: un escritor puede relatar algo totalmente alejado a mí pero hacérmelo cercano. Simplemente Houellebecq para mí no lo consigue en esta novela. Claro que me interesa el arte, claro que mi padre también murió, pero la forma en que está tratado en este libro, no me interesa nada, me parece todo demasiado superficial, tópico, previsible, manido. Es como si Houellebecq escribiera con desgana. Y aún así, voy a leerme la próxima novela que publique.
Debería ya estar acostumbrada a que todas las mujeres que salen en los libros de Houellebecq se note tantísimo que han sido escritas por un hombre. Son planas a más no poder y generalmente encarnan el mito de la santa-puta, es decir, una mujer que es muy buena y muy generosa y muy guapa y en la cama muy puta. Cada cual es libre de tener las fantasías que quiera pero otra cosa es estamparla una y otra vez en todas tus novelas para que los lectores una y otra vez tengan que tragársela. Es por eso que cuando escribo algo de ficción más o menos en serio intento centrarme sólo en personajes femeninos. También debería ya estar acostumbrada que en cualquier momento una novela de Houellebecq sienta el deseo de convertirse en ensayo, pero es que no me ha interesado nada las aventuras de utópicos relacionados con los pre-rafaelitas y es que, además, estas reflexiones están inseridas con calzador. Pero lo más descarado es cuando se me pone a explicarme cosas como la historia de no sé que raza de perros. Parece que me haya hecho un “corta y pega” de la wikipedia. Y aún así, voy a leerme la próxima novela que publique.
February 10, 2014
الخريطة والأرض
لسنوات كنت أرى رواية ميشيل ويلبيك (احتمال جزيرة) على رفوف المكتبات وأتجاوزها، ولكني حصلت على كتابه هذا مدفوعاً بنيله جائزة الغونكور، نعم !! من السخف أن ندعي أن الجوائز لا تؤثر على قراراتنا، كل ما في الأمر هو أننا نفقد الثقة بجائزة ما، عندما نكتشف أنها منحت لأعمال ضعيفة فنياً – البوكر العربي كمثال -.
بدأ ويلبيك الكتابة لينتشل نفسه من الاكتئاب، كتب الشعر أولاً، ومن ثم الرواية، حتى جذب الاهتمام بروايته (المنصة) – لم تترجم إلى العربية -، والتي هاجمته بسببها منظمات إسلامية، رأت في روايته عنصرية ضد المسلمين، هكذا ترك ويلبيك فرنسا، وانتقل ليعيش في إيرلندا ومن ثم إسبانيا.
كتب ويلبيك حتى الآن خمس روايات، ومجموعة كتب أخرى من ضمنها سيرة ذاتية لكاتبه المفضل (لافكرافت)، وترجم من أعماله إلى العربية هذه الرواية – ترجمة متواضعة للأسف من رنا حايك -، و(احتمال جزيرة) – ترجمها محمد المزديوي -، ولا أعلم هل ترجم له سواهما أم لا.
في مراجعات سابقة، وصفت بعض الروائيين بأنهم يملكون فكرة أساسية جميلة لرواياتهم، ولكنهم لا يجيدون التعامل مع التفاصيل – ربيع جابر وعلي بدر كمثال -، ويلبيك على العكس، لا تكاد تمسك بفكرة أساسية، ولكنه يبهرك ببعض التفاصيل الجميلة والممتعة.
بطل الرواية فنان من الجيل الجديد يدعى جاد مارتان، تائه نوعاً ما، لا يدري ما هو اتجاه الفني، ولا ما الذي يفعله بالضبط، تسقط عليه الأفكار اتفاقاً، ثم يقوم بتحويلها إلى مشروع فني يستغرق سنوات من عمره، وحالما ينجح ويصل، يفقد الحماسة، وينفض يده ويبدأ بالبحث عن مشروع فني جديد، فمن تصوير الخردوات، إلى تصوير ودمج خرائط شركة ميشلان الفرنسية مع الأرض – من هنا يأتي اسم الرواية -، إلى لوحات يرسمها لوجوه معروفة أو مجهولة، في خلال هذه الرحلة الفنية، نتابع تفاصيل علاقته الغرامية بالفاتنة الروسية أولغا، والأهم لقائه بالروائي الفرنسي فريدريك بيغبيدير – صاحب رواية 99 فرنكاً -، ولقائه كذلك بميشيل ويلبيك – نعم !! كما بورخيس وكونديرا وساباتو وأوستر، يضع ويلبيك نفسه في روايته، ولكنه يزيد الجرعة قليلاً -.
تبدو الرواية وكأنها تقارن بين الخريطة والأرض، بين الفنان كما عاش وكما كُتب أو سيكتب عنه، في الخريطة نرى كل شيء بوضوح، يبدو كل شيء منطقياً، مترابطاً ونحن نراقبه من الأعلى، على الأرض يبدو المشهد مختلفاً، هذه هي حياة الفنان، هو بلا خريطة، من يضع الخريطة أو يلفقها لاحقاً هم النقاد، الذين يضعون النقاط ويصلونها بحيث تبدو حياة الفنان وكأنما كان يسير على مخطط واضح، بلا تردد، بلا شكوك.
الرواية برأيي جيدة، ممتعة في بعض أجزائها، ربما سلبتها الترجمة الكثير.
لسنوات كنت أرى رواية ميشيل ويلبيك (احتمال جزيرة) على رفوف المكتبات وأتجاوزها، ولكني حصلت على كتابه هذا مدفوعاً بنيله جائزة الغونكور، نعم !! من السخف أن ندعي أن الجوائز لا تؤثر على قراراتنا، كل ما في الأمر هو أننا نفقد الثقة بجائزة ما، عندما نكتشف أنها منحت لأعمال ضعيفة فنياً – البوكر العربي كمثال -.
بدأ ويلبيك الكتابة لينتشل نفسه من الاكتئاب، كتب الشعر أولاً، ومن ثم الرواية، حتى جذب الاهتمام بروايته (المنصة) – لم تترجم إلى العربية -، والتي هاجمته بسببها منظمات إسلامية، رأت في روايته عنصرية ضد المسلمين، هكذا ترك ويلبيك فرنسا، وانتقل ليعيش في إيرلندا ومن ثم إسبانيا.
كتب ويلبيك حتى الآن خمس روايات، ومجموعة كتب أخرى من ضمنها سيرة ذاتية لكاتبه المفضل (لافكرافت)، وترجم من أعماله إلى العربية هذه الرواية – ترجمة متواضعة للأسف من رنا حايك -، و(احتمال جزيرة) – ترجمها محمد المزديوي -، ولا أعلم هل ترجم له سواهما أم لا.
في مراجعات سابقة، وصفت بعض الروائيين بأنهم يملكون فكرة أساسية جميلة لرواياتهم، ولكنهم لا يجيدون التعامل مع التفاصيل – ربيع جابر وعلي بدر كمثال -، ويلبيك على العكس، لا تكاد تمسك بفكرة أساسية، ولكنه يبهرك ببعض التفاصيل الجميلة والممتعة.
بطل الرواية فنان من الجيل الجديد يدعى جاد مارتان، تائه نوعاً ما، لا يدري ما هو اتجاه الفني، ولا ما الذي يفعله بالضبط، تسقط عليه الأفكار اتفاقاً، ثم يقوم بتحويلها إلى مشروع فني يستغرق سنوات من عمره، وحالما ينجح ويصل، يفقد الحماسة، وينفض يده ويبدأ بالبحث عن مشروع فني جديد، فمن تصوير الخردوات، إلى تصوير ودمج خرائط شركة ميشلان الفرنسية مع الأرض – من هنا يأتي اسم الرواية -، إلى لوحات يرسمها لوجوه معروفة أو مجهولة، في خلال هذه الرحلة الفنية، نتابع تفاصيل علاقته الغرامية بالفاتنة الروسية أولغا، والأهم لقائه بالروائي الفرنسي فريدريك بيغبيدير – صاحب رواية 99 فرنكاً -، ولقائه كذلك بميشيل ويلبيك – نعم !! كما بورخيس وكونديرا وساباتو وأوستر، يضع ويلبيك نفسه في روايته، ولكنه يزيد الجرعة قليلاً -.
تبدو الرواية وكأنها تقارن بين الخريطة والأرض، بين الفنان كما عاش وكما كُتب أو سيكتب عنه، في الخريطة نرى كل شيء بوضوح، يبدو كل شيء منطقياً، مترابطاً ونحن نراقبه من الأعلى، على الأرض يبدو المشهد مختلفاً، هذه هي حياة الفنان، هو بلا خريطة، من يضع الخريطة أو يلفقها لاحقاً هم النقاد، الذين يضعون النقاط ويصلونها بحيث تبدو حياة الفنان وكأنما كان يسير على مخطط واضح، بلا تردد، بلا شكوك.
الرواية برأيي جيدة، ممتعة في بعض أجزائها، ربما سلبتها الترجمة الكثير.
November 7, 2020
Vaguely annoying self-portrait. Inept police procedural. Annoying protagonist.
The self-portrait says things such as "Picasso's ugly, and he paints a hideously deformed world because his soul is ugly." Okay then! Manifestly self-parody at times, but also a toxic presentation.
All that complaining made, the text is rhetorically strong overall and there's plenty of abstract discussion to keep it lively. Plus, the primary conceit, regarding the borgesian/baudrillardian map, is worthwhile.
The self-portrait says things such as "Picasso's ugly, and he paints a hideously deformed world because his soul is ugly." Okay then! Manifestly self-parody at times, but also a toxic presentation.
All that complaining made, the text is rhetorically strong overall and there's plenty of abstract discussion to keep it lively. Plus, the primary conceit, regarding the borgesian/baudrillardian map, is worthwhile.
March 11, 2015
Too cold for my taste but terribly clever. I found his worldview coloring my own, which is a mark of how absorbing a writer Houellebecq is. I'm sure I would have enjoyed him more in my younger years, but I've become more generous in my late fifties, tend to cut characters more slack.
June 27, 2012
Michel Houellebecq is the subversive satirist supreme. The diffident misanthrope who takes humanity to task for our natures, our systems, our ridiculous aspirations and our delusions. But he does so with light touch. He doesn't have to beat us around the head with our own foolish failings.
Jed Martin is an artist of some repute. The one layer he misses on his palette is an ability with words, so he seeks after commissioning one Michel Houellebecq to write the programme notes for his upcoming exhibition (and my how this novel blows Patrick Gayle's lame novel of that name out of the water). As part of the deal, Martin offers to paint a portrait of the author. Both men are non-social beings. The Houellebecq portrayed in the novel has few redeeming features and is always tagged with some aspect of his bibliography, brand Houellebecq.
So artist commissions writer, only the novel of course embodies an author writing about the fictional artist. In a few simple words, Houellebecq not only lances the pomposity of the art world, but conjures up marvellous canvases simply through his words: a painting entitled "Damian Hirst and Jeff Koons Dividing Up The Art Market" and something similar with Steve Jobs and Bill Gates. Satire delivered by steely rapier wit rather than floppy palette brush. Without our literary words constructing a title, such paintings would carry no weight. Arriving at Shannon Airport, Martin passes a gallery of photographed visiting Popes and US Presidents, yet is only struck by an oil painting of the first celebrity visitor JFK and gives the portrait due study. This from an artist who initially made his name through photographic art works.
Houellebecq is either satirising or protesting the death of the old, traditional France within this novel (it's hard to prise his intent, seeing as he himself resides in exile in Ireland, having spurned France, or surrendered to being spurned by his native country, though this novel won the Prix Goncourt). Martin's photos were of Michelin maps of the French rural heartlands. Not the scenery, not the landscapes, nor the people living there, just the topographic maps, an ironic juxtaposition. The map evidently is the territory after all. Added to that a meditation on Michelin's guides having necessarily to change and adapt, from appealing to the French (who can no longer afford to holiday in their own country) and the Anglo-Saxons (who tour further afield) and now have to resonate with the tastes of Chinese and Russian tourists. The restaurants experiment with exotic fusion menus, only to discover the Chinese hanker for locally sourced pork sausages and France must contemplate returning to its bucolic traditions and away from multi-cultural influences. Just as the artistic Academies would look askance at the dominance of conceptual art of the likes of Koons and Hirst, so French cookery is under assault; lunch now being a rushed workplace half-hour, without the savouring of wine and fine gustation. Other Academie Francaise cultural touchstones are under threat from foreigners and globalisation in this novel. Not least the imposition of a smoking ban in line with the EU stipulation.
Martin further chronicles this slow decay as he switches from photography to oil painting. His painting series is about the dignity of white collar labour. Such labour itself fast being stripped of any useful productive value. The irony strikes him that the captains of industry he paints, are those most rich and best capable of paying the large sums for his paintings. Martin is an artist with a good eye, but no ostensible love of what he does. He is unfazed during unproductive periods. He remains untroubled by doctrinal issues in art, or moral issues. He is even fairly detached from the money his job has rolling in. He is critiquing capitalism, which is why the fictional and real Houellebecq empathise with his work, yet he is happiest walking around the familiar aisles in a chain supermarket.
In part 3 of the novel a terrible crime takes place and here Houellebecq offers up a pretty stylish police procedural genre part work. Some may feel the energy built up in the novel percolates away at this point, but I didn't see it as a problem. I rather enjoyed his take on a tired old genre, very French it was too since it puts one in mind of all those French detective movies that they no longer seem to make (another Academie loss in the face of globalisation of culture?). The author seems rather taken with the real-life police advisers who helped him, so much so they are awarded a very rare Houellebecq accolade of an acknowledgement, alongside his flippant doff of the cap to Wikipedia. He has confessed to lifting sections from Wikipedia and transplanting them into the novel, but then Burroughs did something similar with his cut-ups of the works of other authors. The subversion is still nestling within this third section, a brilliant little meditative riff on dogs and pets, turns into a heart-rendering cameo about the lack of posterity and childlessness.
Houellebecq has somewhat of a curious style. There are points at which he freezes the action to riff or spout off about something in modern life that clearly grinds his gears. But he does faithfully embed it in the voice of his characters, so that he doesn't come across as ranting. In fact I'd venture that he actually wears his cynicism with rather good grace, as if he can't quite buy into his critique of modern society himself. Then the action is likely to veer straight back into either a profound welter of emotion through the interaction between characters, or its polar opposite, the drab, weary observations made by a totally isolated character out of kilter with everything and everyone in the world. Sometimes the switch between these three states and tones is a bit perplexing, but for me it does all hold together, underscored by a real wit and charm, however begrudging that charm is to both the characters and the reader. Could Houellebecq be cooking a snook at his readers? Quite possibly, but we accede graciously to his art.
If you want something to sum up Houellebecq, then it's the early phrase "scarcely insufficient", very much a glass half-empty view of the world, where others might have posited "easily sufficient". I give you Michel Houellebecq, possibly literature's greatest living misanthrope.
Jed Martin is an artist of some repute. The one layer he misses on his palette is an ability with words, so he seeks after commissioning one Michel Houellebecq to write the programme notes for his upcoming exhibition (and my how this novel blows Patrick Gayle's lame novel of that name out of the water). As part of the deal, Martin offers to paint a portrait of the author. Both men are non-social beings. The Houellebecq portrayed in the novel has few redeeming features and is always tagged with some aspect of his bibliography, brand Houellebecq.
So artist commissions writer, only the novel of course embodies an author writing about the fictional artist. In a few simple words, Houellebecq not only lances the pomposity of the art world, but conjures up marvellous canvases simply through his words: a painting entitled "Damian Hirst and Jeff Koons Dividing Up The Art Market" and something similar with Steve Jobs and Bill Gates. Satire delivered by steely rapier wit rather than floppy palette brush. Without our literary words constructing a title, such paintings would carry no weight. Arriving at Shannon Airport, Martin passes a gallery of photographed visiting Popes and US Presidents, yet is only struck by an oil painting of the first celebrity visitor JFK and gives the portrait due study. This from an artist who initially made his name through photographic art works.
Houellebecq is either satirising or protesting the death of the old, traditional France within this novel (it's hard to prise his intent, seeing as he himself resides in exile in Ireland, having spurned France, or surrendered to being spurned by his native country, though this novel won the Prix Goncourt). Martin's photos were of Michelin maps of the French rural heartlands. Not the scenery, not the landscapes, nor the people living there, just the topographic maps, an ironic juxtaposition. The map evidently is the territory after all. Added to that a meditation on Michelin's guides having necessarily to change and adapt, from appealing to the French (who can no longer afford to holiday in their own country) and the Anglo-Saxons (who tour further afield) and now have to resonate with the tastes of Chinese and Russian tourists. The restaurants experiment with exotic fusion menus, only to discover the Chinese hanker for locally sourced pork sausages and France must contemplate returning to its bucolic traditions and away from multi-cultural influences. Just as the artistic Academies would look askance at the dominance of conceptual art of the likes of Koons and Hirst, so French cookery is under assault; lunch now being a rushed workplace half-hour, without the savouring of wine and fine gustation. Other Academie Francaise cultural touchstones are under threat from foreigners and globalisation in this novel. Not least the imposition of a smoking ban in line with the EU stipulation.
Martin further chronicles this slow decay as he switches from photography to oil painting. His painting series is about the dignity of white collar labour. Such labour itself fast being stripped of any useful productive value. The irony strikes him that the captains of industry he paints, are those most rich and best capable of paying the large sums for his paintings. Martin is an artist with a good eye, but no ostensible love of what he does. He is unfazed during unproductive periods. He remains untroubled by doctrinal issues in art, or moral issues. He is even fairly detached from the money his job has rolling in. He is critiquing capitalism, which is why the fictional and real Houellebecq empathise with his work, yet he is happiest walking around the familiar aisles in a chain supermarket.
In part 3 of the novel a terrible crime takes place and here Houellebecq offers up a pretty stylish police procedural genre part work. Some may feel the energy built up in the novel percolates away at this point, but I didn't see it as a problem. I rather enjoyed his take on a tired old genre, very French it was too since it puts one in mind of all those French detective movies that they no longer seem to make (another Academie loss in the face of globalisation of culture?). The author seems rather taken with the real-life police advisers who helped him, so much so they are awarded a very rare Houellebecq accolade of an acknowledgement, alongside his flippant doff of the cap to Wikipedia. He has confessed to lifting sections from Wikipedia and transplanting them into the novel, but then Burroughs did something similar with his cut-ups of the works of other authors. The subversion is still nestling within this third section, a brilliant little meditative riff on dogs and pets, turns into a heart-rendering cameo about the lack of posterity and childlessness.
Houellebecq has somewhat of a curious style. There are points at which he freezes the action to riff or spout off about something in modern life that clearly grinds his gears. But he does faithfully embed it in the voice of his characters, so that he doesn't come across as ranting. In fact I'd venture that he actually wears his cynicism with rather good grace, as if he can't quite buy into his critique of modern society himself. Then the action is likely to veer straight back into either a profound welter of emotion through the interaction between characters, or its polar opposite, the drab, weary observations made by a totally isolated character out of kilter with everything and everyone in the world. Sometimes the switch between these three states and tones is a bit perplexing, but for me it does all hold together, underscored by a real wit and charm, however begrudging that charm is to both the characters and the reader. Could Houellebecq be cooking a snook at his readers? Quite possibly, but we accede graciously to his art.
If you want something to sum up Houellebecq, then it's the early phrase "scarcely insufficient", very much a glass half-empty view of the world, where others might have posited "easily sufficient". I give you Michel Houellebecq, possibly literature's greatest living misanthrope.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 1,534 reviews