Ah, Houellebecq - sure, he's an arrogant ass who uses his real or supposed insecurities to spit venom on half of the world, but he writes so very well.
Lanzarote is the sort of book that you read during a single bus ride (or at least that's what I did, the one time I didn't run or cycle back from work this summer). Possibly because of its short size, it has way less nastiness than the other books by the same author that I've read so far. And for once, at least some of the groups that Houellebecq attacks are made up of people that I don't feel the desperate need to defend.
Add to that the fact that I believe Houellebecq picks the perfect location for this book, an almost lunar island that manages to attract hordes of tourists nonetheless, and you have a really good read for an hour or so. It won't take much longer than that, and it won't stay with you for much longer than that either, but it will allow you to overcome the boredom of being stuck on a bus in rush-hour traffic.
No comments:
Post a Comment