Michel Houellebecq is the most successful French writer of recent decades. Furiously cynical, hopeless, and at times surprisingly idealistic, Houellebecq's provocative style divides audiences and critics alike. His caustic, elegant, and pornographic prose is noticed wherever he goes, leaving trails of love and hate. But what really lies behind this ferocious facade? What enchants, moves, and affects him? In "A Writer at the End of the World," Juremir Machado da Silva, one of Houellebecq's few friends, offers us glimpses of his visionary personality. Paradoxically, the Frenchman's reserve melted away when exposed to the cold of the southernmost tip of the Americas. Amid the beautiful, untouched, and wild Patagonian wilderness, the reserved Houellebecq, of few words and many enigmas, reveals himself to be a captivating, affectionate, and amusing person. Facing the ice wall of Perito Moreno, or accompanied by a fine Argentine wine, sheltered from the biting winds blowing from Antarctica, Houellebecq shares his impressions of literature. He speaks of children, parents, utopias, the past and the future, without any affectation. He ponders inspiration and why he writes. And he reflects on the therapeutic power of language, the value of art, beauty, humor, irony, and culture. More than a travelogue, A Writer at the End of the World is a blend of late anthropology and early sociology. It raises several essential and metaphysical questions. What's the difference between a seal and a sea lion? Is it worth having children when you can have a dog? How can you talk about literature on television? What isn't asked or answered is suggested. Or imagined. Houellebecq reveals himself to be a good singer, a great imitator, and an excellent photographer.
