The Map and the Territory; a book review

In the past, I’ve often considered reading a Michel Houellebecq novel, but I kept discovering reviews that left me cold; fortunately, when The Map and the Territory was translated (from the French, by Gavin Bowd), I read an interesting review that induced me to read the book (there was another contributing factor: it won a French literary award — The 2010 Prix Gongourt).

As the novel unfolds, the author persistently distorts the fourth wall: the protagonist, Jed Martin, is an artist who is curiously attached to the author:

The artist in the novel paints a portrait of Houellebecq, who is a character in the novel. When Jed Martin gives the painting to Houellebecq, the author seems reluctant to accept and acknowledge the painting: Houellebecq’s reluctance in the novel may allude to his reluctance in parceling out private thoughts; the author’s personality is exposed (warts and all) while the artist plans and completes the painting.

Houllebecq-in-the-novel also writes a lengthy catalogue blurb for Jed Martin’s first vernissage [which is apparently another term for varnishing day, and is also “…a reception at a gallery for an artist whose show is about to open to the public.” — Dictionary.com].

Jed becomes a wealthy man; his early successes come with his photographs, especially his work with Michelin Maps; and, later in his career, his series of portrait paintings solidifies his name; coincidentally, his bank account swells.

The novel explores themes such as: the creative process, relationships, social decay, the challenges of an introverted existence, the evils of assembly lines, and aging.

There is hope and happiness, but a melancholic thread runs through the book, and one character is the (somewhat surprising) victim of a ghastly murder, but it all seems apropos after the book’s epigram (a quotation from Charles d’Orléans):

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“The world is weary of me,

And I am weary of it.”

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Recommended

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Mr. H. and the Two White Rats

Mr. H. was my home-room teacher for grade five (he was also the Phys-Ed. teacher, but that’s another story…); I didn’t like him (and he probably didn’t like me: I found out years afterwards that he told my Mom I was “…a snake in the grass”), but he had some good moments:

On the first day of grade five, Mr. H. set up two small cages at the back of the classroom; each cage contained an exercise wheel and a white rat. The rats would “…teach us a life-lesson; they are an experiment in healthy living,” Mr. H. told us (I don’t think the rats had volunteered).

White rat number one would be fed a carefully planned, healthy diet, and we could supplement its intake by offering veggies, fruits, nuts, and a few choice table scraps (everything to be approved by Mr. H.).

White rat number two would be fed a limited diet of rat food to ensure it received some nutrients; but we, the students, could supplement its diet with any form of junk food we wanted to. We were to record our observations.

There was no observable differentiation between the rats when they began their lives with us. Both looked healthy, with sleek, white coats, and each patrolled their cage-perimeter and whirled their exercise wheel on occasion.

After several weeks…

Rat number one (unofficially named Sinbad) was the model of health: his fur was glossy, he was active, and he enjoyed his exercise wheel; he ran smoothly, for lengthy durations.

Rat number two (also unofficially named: Lumpy) was noticeably less active: his fur seemed dull and blotchy. Mr. H. advised us to be scientific, and to write observations, but to be sure to note when our observations were subjective.

Just prior to Christmas break…

Rat number one (Sinbad) continued his active, sleek existence (he would often grasp onto the top of the cage with his front paws and hang for several seconds (working on his upper-body?)), but rat number two was definitely looking sickly : his fur was matted (he was rarely observed ‘grooming’), he spent most of the day sleeping, and he rarely used the exercise wheel (I made a pact with myself that I’d try to slip him something healthy; at the very least, I wouldn’t feed him any more junk-food).

A couple of weeks after Spring Break…

Lumpy was pretty much the same: matted, discolored fur; and he was lethargic, rarely stepping onto the exercise wheel.

But Sinbad was curled up in a corner, dead.

Maybe Lumpy was on to something, perhaps he was a thinker: a Zen monk of rats.

Perhaps it was his imagination that granted him longevity.

Mr. H. attempted to explain genetic predisposition; and, he pointed out, the lesson we should take away was the quality of life that rat number one had enjoyed.

At the end of the school year, Lumpy was still alive and one of the students took him home as a pet (Mr. H. certainly didn’t want the thing).

As I sat on my sofa last night, reading a book (The Map and the Territory, Michel Houellebecq) and drinking a glass of cold beer (Unibroue Maudite) , I know what message I took away from Mr. H.’s White Rat Experiment.

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