Serotonin

The least successful/enjoyable of Houellebecq's novels in my view. Serotonin, I felt, was generally devoid of both joy and humour, while much of the ground covered by the author had received similar treatment in his prior works. Similar to the narrator (an undoubtedly semi-autobiographical character) being keen to end the chore of living, so I felt about wishing to reach the final pages of Serotonin. Sure, you have the legacy of Sartre, but this novel took existential nihilism to extremes, for much of the work is an exercise in frustration, disappointment and willful reminiscing, all combined with a heavy dose of Houellebecq's trademark casual racism and chauvinism. Pointless nostalgia, it is shown, runs the risk of extremism being encouraged. It is not by accident that Houellebecq is often seen as a prophet of the Far Right. The EU (and its farming policies) seem a particular target in Serotonin. However, if it's all so pointless, why bother writing about it and raging against the machine? It's also a real pity to see Houellebecq — a clearly talented, if controversial individual — not engaging in more robust debate. Atomised, for example, revealed some genuinely original thinking, while Submission was a wonderful thought experiment. Serotonin is neither. 6 out of 10.

By Michel Houellebecq