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The Matrix or Lord of the Rings. Choose Wisely.

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A new novel by Michel Houellebecq takes a surgeon’s scalpel to Western modernity. Is it an autopsy or a last-minute rescue?

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Is life worth living? Are the forms of Western life conducive to happiness? These questions are best asked in the form of a novel, and raising such questions is Michel Houellebecq’s strength. Annihilation, published in French in 2022 and translated into English in 2024, leaves the reader with the conviction that answers must be found. Set in 2027 France, Annihilation focuses on the career, family, and marriage of Paul Raison and meditates on problems of modernity, both contemporary (euthanasia and the fate of aging parents) and perennial (sources of meaning and the elements of a flourishing marriage). It is worth noting that this novel is graphicly erotic. Houellebecq does not descend into pornography, but he uses sex as a trope to highlight modern conditions. Also, it is impossible to contemplate this novel without spoilers. Reader, beware.

Annihilation boasts a sprawling narrative, with terrorism, financial legislation, and National Front (French right-wing politics) subplots, which all find their meeting point in Paul Raison. Paul’s position as an upper-middle-class bureaucrat positions him as a kind of Everyman representing the norms of first-world elites. Paul is the locus of Houellebecq’s satirical arguments about modernity; the reader is meant to find Paul plausible, but his flaws are indicative of systemic problems in the modern era.

Paul’s ennui, disconnection to his family, agnosticism, wealth, and level of education all symbolize the emptiness of modern success. His childless marriage, his wife’s flirtation with Wicca, his sexual history and habits reveal a man who by many metrics has gained the whole world yet lost his soul. “Finally, Paul added that he regretted not having children, and it was a real shock when he heard those words coming out of his mouth, because it was something he had never said to himself, and what was more it was completely unexpected, he had always been sure of the opposite.”

Paul and his wife own a home in Paris, yet he has no joy. “Sleeping alone is difficult when you have lost the habit, you are cold and frightened; but [Paul and Prudence] had passed that awkward stage a long time ago; they had attained instead a kind of standardized despair.” What has gone wrong with the West that financial success seems to require yielding that which makes life worthwhile? Paul is missing key ingredients of the good life, yet fails to notice their lack.

Paul expresses the disgust of an elite for the masses, and in so doing recalls Raskolnikov’s assertion in Crime and Punishment that, as a superior man, he stood outside the normal existence of humanity. Through the life of a French bureaucrat, Houellebecq suggests that modern elites just might hate human beings. “[Paul] realized that his doubt now applied to the whole of the human community. He had always liked the story of Frederick II of Prussia asking to be buried near his dogs so that he did not lie among men, ‘that wicked race.’”

The title of the book comes from this line: “The worst thing was that if the terrorists’ goal was to annihilate the world as [Paul] knew it, to annihilate the modern world, he couldn’t entirely blame them.” Houellebecq lands as a conservative author in the sense of a conservatism opposed to modernity. His story highlights the inability of modernity to provide a stable source of meaning or flourishing; in such a state, does the modern West deserve to endure? Paul asks the question but does not draw an easy conclusion.

Paul is also a foil set against his Catholic homemaking sister (who married instead of going on to higher education). Cécile expresses a simple faith through praying, going to Mass, and insisting that God will heal their stroke-victim father. She and her husband, Hervé, have few resources. Hervé’s ties to the National Front eventually land him an entry-level job selling insurance, but he and Cécile are financially fragile. Despite this, Cécile’s faith in God’s power, love for others, and concern for family dynamics stand in contrast to Paul’s isolation and indifference. Houellebecq illustrates the siblings’ dissimilarity by means of popular culture:

The first thing that struck [Paul] as he stepped inside was the poster of Keanu Reeves. The image was taken from The Matrix Revolutions, and showed Neo blind, his face covered by a bloody bandage, wandering in an apocalyptic landscape. … The Matrix had come out a few days before Paul’s eighteenth birthday; he had been excited about it straightaway. The same thing would happen to Cécile two years later, with the first episode in the Lord of the Rings series.

Paul’s agnosticism supports his sense that everything around him might not exist, recalling both Descartes and The Matrix; in contrast, Cécile sees the world as deeply meaningful, flowing from the creative word of a loving God. For Houellebecq, these films become symbolically meaningful, underscoring two opposed views of reality.

Through Paul and Cécile, Houellebecq highlights the success of the modern man against the costs of that success, leaving his readers with a clear sense that Cécile’s way of life, while less politically important and financially stable, is better. She is happy, much happier in her family than Paul in his marriage. Cécile loves to cook for her family, and she cooks traditional French food that is time- and labor-intensive; such cooking requires significant skills, but the result is regular family feasting. In contrast, Paul barely eats. “In terms of food, Paul settled for his little shelf, which he filled quickly, having gradually given up frequenting local gastronomic artisans and settling instead for the formula, nutritionally synthetic and reliably distributed, of ready-made microwavable dishes.” Food becomes the site of feasting for Cécile, growing out of her unified marriage with Hervé. For Paul, food becomes a war zone when Prudence becomes vegan. Though Paul has more money and can afford more elaborate fare, the food Cécile’s family eats is far superior.

The Raison family drama creates the backdrop for crucial questions that could have come from late-2024 headlines. Paul’s father experiences a stroke, and in his recovery is eventually moved to a long-term-care facility. When a new doctor is introduced to oversee his father’s care, Paul agrees with Hervé and Cécile that they need to bring their father home. They partner with the National Front to remove him from the hospital. This subplot, filled with humor and intrigue, brings several questions to the forefront. First, should governments be able to kill their citizens? With Canada’s Medical Assistance in Dying (MAID) program and the United Kingdom voting to affirm euthanasia as a “dignified” method of death, leading modern governments have concluded that they would rather kill elderly citizens than pay to sustain their healthcare.

Within this consideration, directly relevant to Paul’s father, are other questions about medical care, the system of modern medicine, and power dynamics. Who actually gets to decide the fate of nonverbal patients? Is it the family? The medical doctor? The government bureaucrat determined to apply fairness to all patients even if that model means no one is cared for well?

Inseparable from these concerns is the reality that medical technology enables a preservation of life longer than was possible previously. Without a clear understanding of the nature of human life and a limiting of the sphere of governmental action, mass murder of the elderly (whose care costs the most) becomes conceivable. Where does the individual, the family, fit in such a schema? Houellebecq introduces a Baptist billionaire pro-life advocate who funds a clandestine group breaking elderly people out of hospitals before they can be euthanized; this group works with families and technically fits within the law. As one government official explains to Paul, “What’s remarkable is that they always have an inside accomplice, usually a nurse or care assistant, but sometimes a doctor; and they seem to have them in every hospital in France; I have a sense that the medical fraternity is very divided on the question of euthanasia.”

Paul’s struggles collapse into a closing narrative wherein he discovers that his time is short. In his early 50s, he has a malignant tumor that cannot be removed without removing his tongue. Suddenly, everything else comes into perspective. His job becomes less important; his wife’s support, and spending remaining time with her, is where his focus lies. His strength in earlier chapters is replaced with weakness as Paul undergoes chemo and radiation therapy. In one poignant scene, he longs to sit with his father and say everything he had never quite been able to say. Paul and his father then sit together silently for hours. Paul’s looming death brings his life into focus, suggesting that the way he had spent his previous four decades was insufficient. Like a good modern novelist, Hoquellebecq closes the book without resolving the questions he raises. But through Paul’s story arc, he rejects the emptiness of materialism.

What then is Annihilation about? What does it say? It brings the reader into close communion with a contemporary agnostic French intellectual and shows the emptiness of such a life. Paul spends most of his years as a hedonist; throughout the book, he recalls trysts with former lovers. Hoquellebecq narrates, “[Paul] himself had never been in love; he had slept with half a dozen girls, and had found them likeable enough, nothing more, but in the looks that his sister was giving to Hervé he discovered an obvious and powerful strength with which he himself was unfamiliar.”

By the end, dying in close fellowship with his wife provides his only source of satisfaction. Paul illustrates the modern isolated, atomized individual cut off from traditional sources of meaning. “What was the point of installing 5G if you simply couldn’t make contact with one another any more, and perform the essential gestures, the ones that allow the human species to reproduce, the ones that also, sometimes, allow you to be happy?”

For all that, Paul can easily walk halls of power, spend money on whatever he wants, do almost anything he wants, yet his life has stripped him of the ability to want anything in particular. In contrast, Cécile has a much simpler life, and her husband is under-employed. But her family, her faith, and her cooking become sources of joy and ressourcement. Houellebecq does not land on a simple answer; instead, he asks the reader to consider his questions: Is the West worth fighting for? What makes a happy life? Have we traded our spiritual inheritance for materialistic pottage? Through images and characters, Houellebecq helps the reader see more deeply into modernity with hopes that a more finely tuned perception will give rise to answers.

Josh Herring

Dr. Josh Herring is professor of classical education and humanities at Thales College in Wake Forest, N.C., where he teaches liberal arts courses and directs the Certificate in Classical Education Philosophy program. He also hosts The Optimistic Curmudgeon podcast and tweets @TheOptimisticC3.