A President Beur country smelly cheeses.

One could describe this hastily latest novel by Michel Houellebecq Po-fiction Science. His background (background old future in French) is the election of a Muslim, Mohammed Ben Abbes, to the presidency of the republic and its consequences on the political, intellectual and philosophical-religious life of France.

Some take offense or the unlikelihood of bias or expediency of this scenario. But if we had said to the Crusaders returning from the Holy Land in the thirteenth century that their beautiful country would flourish mosques eight centuries later, they would have swallowed their haubert! Today everything goes fast, who knows ... (viscerally atheist, I still prefer that it happens after I arrived in paradise!).

I simply took pleasure in reading this novel and those gutter literature qualify him either have not read or have the intellectual faculties that have not allowed them to understand it. Obviously one can hate for artistic reasons, but certainly not for alleged dirty hair reasons, smoking history and alcohol. I did not find either that Houellebecq was proselytize for or against Islam.

Everything Houellebecq portrays may seem sad, dreary, boring, but with him you have to read between the lines. I liked the character of François, a specialist university professor Huysmans (naturalist writer who converted to Catholicism in the late nineteenth century, this choice is not trivial and brings much richness to the text). At the first name of the hero, does it make a connection with the character of Bayrou (Prime Minister jerk government Ben Abbes) whose first name is not mentioned?

The style of Houellebecq's always cold, clinical, but honestly his misanthropy did me much good. The academic world is very well described.

Just before reading the book, I saw Ali Baddou, the "Bernard Pivot Canal +", indignant and say that this novel had done puke! From his origins or faith, we can find excuses, but honestly looked like in its time the Ayatollah Khomeini: "no big deal shah!"

This is the first time I buy a Houellebecq at its output (usually I borrow at the library or buy pocket his most confidential items) and it is true that it is not given. So I understand that some reserve for true literary achievements, honest and deep, as the book of Valerie Trierweiler.

"Submission" is it better or worse than the previous books of Houellebecq? Its originality is sufficient unto itself and then the end of the novel is like a crunchy filo pastry.

NB: When the face Francis butter white wine to the director of La Sorbonne, it is with the Meursault! A nod to Camus?