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Frank Wynne

Michel Houellebecq

Platform Paperback – July 13, 2004

by Michel Houellebecq (Author), Frank Wynne (Author)

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In his new work, Michel Houellebecq combines erotic provocation with a terrifying vision of a world teetering between satiety and fanaticism, to create one of the most shocking, hypnotic, and intelligent novels in years.

In his early forties, Michel Renault skims through his days with as little human contact as possible. But following his father’s death he takes a group holiday to Thailand where he meets a travel agent—the shyly compelling Valérie—who begins to bring this half-dead man to life with sex of escalating intensity and audacity. Arcing with dreamlike swiftness from Paris to Pattaya Beach and from sex clubs to a terrorist massacre, Platform is a brilliant, apocalyptic masterpiece by a man who is widely regarded as one of the world’s most original and daring writers.

Print length

272 pages
Language

English
Publisher

Vintage
Publication date

July 13, 2004
Dimensions

5.25 x 0.58 x 7.95 inches
ISBN-10

1400030269
ISBN-13

978-1400030262
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Editorial Reviews

Review

“A terrific writer, funny and prophetic . . . feverishly alive to the world around him.” – The New York Times Book Review

“Calculated to poke, prod, engorge, enrage and amuse. . . . It’s dangerous in the way that literature is meant to be dangerous—that is, it awakens neglected sensibilities.”—The New York Observer

“Houellebecq’s writing has a raw, disquieting brilliance. . . .It’s ‘genius.’”—The Washington Post

“Brilliant, charming, puzzling, annoying and sometimes downright repulsive.” —The Denver Post

“Full, acidic, self-flagellating . . . [Platform has] earned Mr. Houellebecq the status of conversation piece, agent provocateur and savage messiah.” —The New York Times

“Remarkable . . . hilarious. . . . [Houellebecq] writes from the soul of a despairing, acutely lucid bureaucrat on Viagra.” —Los Angeles Times Book Review

“Scaldingly honest . . . [Platform] takes no prisoners as to prevailing terms of politically correct or any-other-way-correct discourse. . . . It frequently uses jarring juxtaposition to dislocate us from complacencies, received wisdoms or even moderate comfort. . . . The analysis is broad and extremely knowledgeable . . . [with] quirky and sometimes horrific observations on everything from ecology to airport gift shops to incest. . . . Bracing.” —St. Louis Post-Dispatch

“The most potentially weighty French novelist to emerge since Tournier. . . . The trajectory of Houellebecq’s world view will be worth following.” —The New Yorker

“An outstandingly powerful and relevant novel about sex, death, and Islam.” —Hanif Kureishi

“Astute, graceful, sexually preoccupied, occasionally alarming. . . . Eviscerat[es] the cultural moment.” —The Baltimore Sun

“The characters in Platformare detestable. . . . And the hatred [Michel] expresses . . . is loathsome. . . . But what is wrong with this? Why should literature not be as cruel as life itself? . . . This book offers us an ‘I’ we can relate to–hate, love, fear–without being pointedly obstructed by the author’s tormented cosmology. . . . Moving.” —San Francisco Chronicle

“Brilliant. . . . Reads like a shot. . . . The excitement of Platform is the force with which Houellebecq says the unsayable, his determination to cut through moral equivocation.” —Salon

“[A] dirty novel of ideas. . . . Houellebecq’s sex scenes are hot and bountiful.” —Entertainment Weekly

“An extraordinary blend of pornography, satire and diatribe . . . Houellebecq is an undeniably gifted writer–I found myself reading on, even when the impulse to throw the book across the room grew strong.” —Charles Matthews, San Jose Mercury News

“Odd, subversive entertainment.” —The Boston Globe

“What’s at stake is the desacralizing of sex, its final leap into the realm of pure commodity, the role of implacable consumption in cultural imperialism. . . . It’s not the kind of book you only read once.” —The Village Voice

“Cynical and anomic . . . literary and complex.” –The Atlantic Monthly

“Shockingly vile and shockingly banal, written with an ear toward pissing off just about everyone. . . . Houellebecq’s novel is tough to put down no matter how much you’d like to. . . . Like good porn it’s increasingly difficult to draw your eyes away as it oozes toward climax.” —Austin Chronicle

“A work of considerable imagination and wit. Even when the reader is most repelled, he may want to view the writer with grudging admiration. . . . [Michel Renault’s rants] are very funny, and . . . very true.” —The Sunday Star-Ledger (Newark, NJ)

“Platform cuts precisely to the core of every imaginable big-picture problem facing the world. . . . Houellebecq knows how to get a rise out of his readers. . . . His prejudices are serious, and current.” —American Book Review

“Houellebecq writes with an honesty and an anomic conviction that raises his novels, beyond any single troubling moment, toward genius.” —Toronto Globe and Mail

“The most important book of the year–and perhaps of the century thus far. . . . Dazzling and prescient. . .Houellebecq [is] one of the finest novelists of ideas alive.” —Evening Standard (London)

“Brilliant. . .A thrilling read, close to Swift’s A Modest Proposal in its impact.” —Daily Telegraph (London)

“Extraordinarily good. . . Houellebecq is one of the few novelists working in any language who properly understands the tensions of the present age. He is also utterly fearless in articulating this.” —New Statesman

“Houellebecq writes with humor as sharp as a razor’s edge. There is bravery and even bravado in [his] prose. He alone among contemporary writers is prepared to do what the likes of Orwell and Huxley did and put up a mirror to our past and project its reflection on the future.” —Financial Times (London)

From the Inside Flap

Michel Renault is a human void. Following the death of the father he barely knew, he endures his civil ser-
vice job while eking out an existence of prepackaged pleasure, hollow friendships, TV dinners, and pornography. On a group holiday in Thailand, however, he meets the shyly compelling Valérie, who soon pursues an agenda that Michel himself could never have thought possible: his own humanization.

Back in Paris, they plunge into an affair that strays into S&M, public sex, and partner swapping, even as they devise a scheme to save Valérie?s ailing travel company by capitalizing on the only trade Michel has seen flourish in the Third World. Before long, he quits his job, and their business model for ?sex tourism? is gradually implemented. But when they return to Thailand, where Michel?s philosophy will be put into practice, he discovers that sex is neither the most consuming nor dangerous of passions . . .

From a suburbanized West crippled by hate crime to an East subsumed by materialism, Michel Houellebecq explores?with characteristic provocativeness, but also with surprising tenderness?the emotions that seem most resilient to any influence: love and hate. Platform is, as Anita Brookner has written, ?a brilliant novel, casting a prescient eye on the abuses and inequalities that lead to wider trouble.?

From the Hardcover edition.

From the Back Cover

lt is a human void. Following the death of the father he barely knew, he endures his civil ser-
vice job while eking out an existence of prepackaged pleasure, hollow friendships, TV dinners, and pornography. On a group holiday in Thailand, however, he meets the shyly compelling Valérie, who soon pursues an agenda that Michel himself could never have thought possible: his own humanization.

Back in Paris, they plunge into an affair that strays into S&M, public sex, and partner swapping, even as they devise a scheme to save Valérie’s ailing travel company by capitalizing on the only trade Michel has seen flourish in the Third World. Before long, he quits his job, and their business model for “sex tourism” is gradually implemented. But when they return to Thailand, where Michel’s philosophy will be put into practice, he discovers that sex is neither the most consuming nor dangerous of passions . . .

From a suburbanized West crippled by

About the Author

Michel Houellebecq’s The Elementary Particles, an international bestseller, won the prestigious Prix Novembre in France as well as the lucrative International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award. He lives in Ireland.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

1

Father died last year. I don’t subscribe to the theory that we only become truly adult when our parents die; we never become truly adult.

As I stood before the old man’s coffin, unpleasant thoughts came to me. He had made the most of life, the old bastard; he was a clever cunt. “You had kids, you fucker,” I said spiritedly. “You shoved your fat cock in my mother’s cunt.” I was a bit tense, I have to admit. It’s not every day you have a death in the family. I’d refused to see the corpse. I’m forty, I’ve already had plenty of opportunity to see corpses. Nowadays, I prefer to avoid them. It was this that had always dissuaded me from getting a pet.

I’m not married, either. I’ve had the opportunity several times, but I never took it. That said, I really love women. It’s always been a bit of a regret, for me, being single. It’s particularly awkward on vacations. People are suspicious of single men on vacation, after they get to a certain age: they assume that they’re selfish, and probably a bit pervy. I can’t say they’re wrong.

After the funeral, I went back to the house where my father lived out his last years. The body had been discovered a week earlier. A little dust had already settled around the furniture and in the corners of the rooms; I noticed a cobweb on the window frame. So time, entropy, all that stuff, was slowly taking the place over. The freezer was empty. The kitchen cupboards mostly contained single-serving Weight Watchers instant meals, tins of flavored protein, and energy bars. I wandered through the rooms nibbling a granola bar. In the boiler room, I rode the exercise bike for a while. My father was over seventy and in much better physical shape than I was. He did an hour of rigorous exercise every day, laps in the pool twice a week. On weekends, he played tennis and went cycling with people his age. I’d met some of them at the funeral. “He coached the lot of us!” a gynecologist exclaimed. “He was ten years older than us, but on a two-kilometer hill, he’d be a whole minute ahead.” Father, Father, I said to myself, how great was your vanity! To the left of my field of vision I could make out a weightlifting bench, barbells. I quickly visualized a moron in shorts—his face wrinkled, but otherwise very like mine—building up his pectorals with hopeless vigor. Father, I said to myself, Father, you have built your house upon sand. I was still pedaling but I was starting to feel breathless—my thighs already ached a little, though I was only on level 1. Thinking back to the ceremony, I was aware that I had made an excellent general impression. I’m always clean-shaven, my shoulders are narrow, and when I developed a bald spot at about the age of thirty, I decided to cut my hair very short. I usually wear a gray suit and sober ties, and I don’t look particularly cheerful. With my short hair, my lightweight glasses, and my sul- len expression, my head bowed a little to listen to a Christian funeral-hymn mix,* I felt perfectly at ease with the situation—much more at ease than I would have been at a wedding, for example. Funerals, clearly, were my thing. I stopped pedaling, coughed gently. Night was falling quickly over the surrounding meadows. Near the concrete structure that housed the boiler, you could make out a brownish stain that had been poorly cleaned. It was there that my father had been discovered, his skull shattered, wearing shorts and an “I ™ New York” sweatshirt. He had been dead for three days, according to the coroner. There was the possibility, very remote, that what happened was an accident, he could have slipped in a puddle of oil or something. That said, the floor of the room was completely dry, and the skull had been broken in several places. Some of the brain had even spilled onto the floor. In all probability, what we were dealing with was murder. Captain Chaumont of the Cherbourg police was supposed to come over to see me that evening.

Back in the living room, I turned on the television, a thirty-two-inch Sony widescreen with surround sound and an integrated DVD player. There was an episode of Xena: Warrior Princess on TF1, one of my favorite series. Two very muscular women wearing metallic bras and miniskirts made of animal hide were challenging each other with their sabers. “Your reign has gone on too long, Tagrathâ!” cried the brunette. “I am Xena, warrior of the Western Plains!” There was a knock at the door; I turned the sound down.

Outside, it was dark. The wind gently shook the branches dripping with rain. A girl of about twenty-five who looked North African was standing in the doorway. “I’m Aïcha,” she said. “I cleaned for Monsieur Renault twice a week. I’ve just come to get my things.”

“Well . . . ,” I said, “. . . well.” I managed a gesture that was intended to be welcoming. She came in and glanced quickly at the television screen. The two warriors were now wrestling right next to a volcano; I suppose the spectacle had its stimulating side, for a certain kind of lesbian. “I don’t want to disturb you,” said Aïcha. “I’ll only be five minutes.”

“You’re not disturbing me,” I said. “In fact, nothing disturbs me.” She nodded her head as though she understood, her eyes lingered on my face; she was probably gauging my physical resemblance to my father, possibly inferring a degree of moral resemblance. After studying me for a few moments, she turned and climbed the stairs that led to the bedrooms. “Take your time,” I said, my voice barely audible. “Take all the time you need.” She didn’t answer, didn’t pause in her ascent; she had probably not even heard me. I sat down on the sofa again, exhausted by the confrontation. I should have offered to take her coat. That’s what you usually do, offer to take someone’s coat. I realized that the room was terribly cold—a damp, penetrating cold, the cold of a cellar. I didn’t know how to light the boiler, I had no wish to try, now my father was dead and I had intended to leave right away. I turned over to FR3 just in time to catch the last part of Questions pour un champion. At the moment when Nadège from Val-Fourré told Julien Lepers that she was going to risk her title for the third time, Aïcha appeared on the stairs, a small travel bag on her shoulder. I turned off the television and walked quickly toward her. “I’ve always admired Julien Lepers,” I told her. “Even if he doesn’t know the actual town or village the contestant is from, he always manages to say something about the department or the region; he always knows a bit about the climate and the local scenery. Above all, he understands life. The contestants are human beings to him, he understands their problems and their joys. Nothing of what constitutes human reality for the contestants is entirely strange or intimidating to him. Whoever the contestant is, he manages to get them to talk about their work, their family, their hobbies—everything, in fact, that in their eyes goes to make up a life. The contestants are often members of a brass band or a choral society, they’re involved in organizing the local fair, or they devote themselves to some charitable cause. Their children are often there in the studio. You generally get the impression from the program that these people are happy, and you feel better, happier yourself. Don’t you think?”

She looked at me unsmilingly. Her hair was in a chignon, she wore little makeup, her clothes were pretty drab—a serious girl. She hesitated for a moment before saying in a low voice, a little hoarse with shyness: “I was very fond of your father.” I couldn’t think of anything to say. It struck me as bizarre, but just about possible. The old man must have had stories to tell: he’d traveled in Colombia, Kenya, or I don’t know where; he’d had the opportunity to watch rhinoceros through binoculars. Every time we met, he limited himself to making fun of the fact that I was a civil servant, about the job security that went with it. “Got yourself a cushy little number, there,” he would say, making no attempt to hide his scorn. Families are always a bit difficult. “I’m studying nursing,” Aïcha went on, “but since I stopped living with my parents I have had to work as a cleaner.” I racked my brains to think of an appropriate response: was I supposed to ask how expensive rents were in Cherbourg? I finally opted for an “I see,” into which I tried to introduce a certain worldly wisdom. This seemed to satisfy her and she walked to the door. I pressed my face to the glass to watch her Volkswagen Polo do a U-turn in the muddy track. FR3 was showing some rustic made-for-TV movie set in the nineteenth century, starring Tchéky Karyo as a sharecropper. Between piano lessons, the daughter of the landowner—he was played by Jean-Pierre Marielle—accorded the handsome peasant certain liberties. Their clinches took place in a stable. I dozed off just as Tchéky Karyo was energetically ripping off her organza panties. The last thing I remember was a close-up of a small litter of pigs.

* This word and all others marked with an asterisk appear in English in the original French edition.

Product details

Publisher ‏ : ‎ Vintage; Reprint edition (July 13, 2004)
Language ‏ : ‎ English
Paperback ‏ : ‎ 272 pages
ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 1400030269
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-1400030262
Item Weight ‏ : ‎ 6.9 ounces
Dimensions ‏ : ‎ 5.25 x 0.58 x 7.95 inches

Best Sellers Rank: #275,028 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #111 in French Literature (Books)
- #3,189 in Contemporary Literature & Fiction
- #15,852 in Literary Fiction (Books)

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I. Baker

An examination of cynicism and desire

Reviewed in the United States on February 14, 2011

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"Anything can happen in life, especially nothing."
This sums up Michel's Houllebecq's novel quite well. Michel, the narrator, says people think of him as aa "harmless human being, moderately amusing." "They were right," he says. "That was about it." He avoids other people because "It is in our relations with other people that we gain a sense of ourselves; it's that, pretty much, that makes relations with other people unbearable."
He is one cynical guy. He maintains that individuality is a sham: "When all's said and done, the idea of the uniqueness of the individual is nothing more than pompous absurdity." But I don't think he really believes that. There's something else underneath, some hope that life could be better under certain circumstances.
He meets a young woman named Valerie on a trip to Thailand, where about two-thirds of the story takes place. He is blown away by Valerie's innate desire to give others pleasure. It's something he's never found in a person before. Their sex is frequent and intense and detailed intricately in Houllebecq's prose. Some is his best writing is when he is describing sex, or the desire to have sex, or the feeling after having sex. He's not quite obsessed with sex, but I would say he gives it more worth and value than most people in 21st Century America do. (Sometimes we need a Frenchman to remind us that sex is good!) Sex, he says "is the only game left to adults." That said, if you're easily offended by sexual acts, this book is not for you. Many people would consider large portions of this book to be nothing more than pornography. I disagree, because I think there's more going on here, but it's true that Houllebecq loves writing steamy stuff.
However, there's a dark tone underlying all this love and sex, because the narrator tells us early on that he is now alone and regrets never being able "to know a wife's body." So we know something goes wrong with Valerie, we just don't know what it is.
In the second half, the book switches from a story of sexual self-discovery and blossoming love to a story of how two people (Michel and Valerie) fit into the global economic system. I don't want to read too much into his writing, but I know Houllebecq too be crafty, always sneaking in meaning and larger philosophical issues. And the global political themes are very easy to spot. Valerie is involved in setting up hotels in third-word countries, and she and Michel begin to foray into sex tourism, making women available at these hotels for rich people to sleep with. They view it as a capitalist Meanwhile, they're having sex like crazy, experimenting, and at times it seems a bit too much for Michel. It becomes clear that their entrepreneurial sex endeavor will run up against some powerful forces. And it becomes clear that this clash of civilizations is the dark event the narrator foreshadowed.
Michel struggles to hold onto his rejuvenated life, which is always vulnerable to his original cynicism. In the latter throes of the book, it becomes clear that the narrator Michel is just as cynical as he ever was. A broken man is telling us this story. "We are probably wrong to assume that each individual has some secret passion, some mystery, some weakness." No matter what kind of pleasure he experiences, Michel still retains his cynical belief that the idea of "the individual" is a lie. By allowing ourselves to be overcome with passion, we also make ourselves vulnerable to pain. The higher the joy, the more potential it has to hurt when it comes tumbling down. And this is exactly what happens to the narrator.
One of the most moving and gorgeous passages in the book has nothing to do with Michel, but with a dying old man. He realizes at the end of his life that the only good thing he did in life was raise a few rabbits in a small hutch. His career, his wife, it was all a pointless pursuit. But this admission isn't totally nihilistic. Those rabbits had some sort of meaning and power in his life. Of course, in typical Houllebecq fashion, when the man dies, his wife wants to kill all the rabbits to be rid of them.
Most of the novel is written in first-person, but then Houllebecq switches to third person omniscient. So, essentially, the reader gets insight into the other characters, pictures of their most vivid memories and most intense desires, but we're still in the language, the head of the narrator, Michel. Normally, I think this kind of blending of points of view can be gimmicky, but somehow Houllebecq makes it work.
"It's curious to think of all the human beings who live out their whole lives without feeling the need to make the slightest comment, the slightest objection, the slightest remark." But when Valerie is gone, this is exactly what Michel does. For him, Valerie was the one exception, the one passionate outlet. Once she's gone, he realizes he no longer wants to make any comments or objections. He doesn't love and he doesn't hate. He simply accepts his fate and the end of his life in a sober manner. In the end he knows he will be forgotten, and quickly. It's a bleak assessment of his life, but it's also a realistic assessment. As he himself admits, the protagonist was a "mediocre individual in every sense."
The book, however, was in no way mediocre. This is a fantastic effort that explores the nature of love and desire, the ugly heart of materialism and the agony of loss.

20 people found this helpful

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Banana Man

Just read it.

Reviewed in the United States on September 22, 2022

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I haven't read any of his other books yet. But I've aquired several more, so I'll let you know how that goes. But this guy is great!👍 Very French. Very insightful. His sociological observations are off the charts. It's one of those books that you just have to laugh along with because you just know that it's all so true. Great observations on tourism, sex, sex tourism, dating, relationships, love, Islam, American bestsellers ect. ect. ect. Endlessly sharp and entertaining stuff. If you're not reading this guy, you should be. Why not start with this book right here.

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Gary Noland

Brilliant!

Reviewed in the United States on March 29, 2021

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I am reading my fifth novel by Houellebecq at the moment. Although Platform was not my favorite of his novels, it still has leagues more depth in terms of its insights, emotions, humor, pathos and perceptions of all the problems of modern life, foibles of human character, etc. than almost any other novel I can think of (excepting, of course, other novels by Houellebecq). I love Houellebecq so much that I actually composed a musical portrait of him which I posted online. Reading his novels is like being in the company of a close friend. Unfortunately, I don't have much time to write reviews, nor to go into great depth about this book. Suffice it say, I am of the opinion that Houellebecq is an important writer—undoubtedly one of the greatest of all living novelists. His writing is fearless, incisive, poignant, original, and, at times, utterly shocking. Genius! Caveat: not for the squeamish or puritanical of heart.

2 people found this helpful

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John J. Christy

houellebecq throwing haymakers

Reviewed in the United States on January 16, 2012

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This book suffers for its first-person perspective. Clearly we see that Houellebecq wishes to 'get into the heads' of his female foil and his supporting male, so we have some amusing scenes where our narrator expounds at length in the third person about Valerie, and then adds an "I" after it all to add his commentary. Aside from some strangeness like this, the book is classically Houellebecq: a big hit among the fans, and sure to be hated by the detractors. This is probably the author at his most reactionary, but then with the left in the state that it is, what other option is there?

What else? The claims that this book is depressing, misogynistic, etc. are absolutely ridiculous. The one fully formed person in this book is Valerie. She is humanized; she is whole, and for that there is an incredible contrast between Valerie and her male counterparts. Houellebecq is not anti-human; he is a romantic who's disappointed with the trajectory of the world.

4 people found this helpful

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Eloi

Life's a crapshoot

Reviewed in the United States on August 19, 2007

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Part one of this novel, "Thai Tropic," seemed so much of a rewrite of Camus's L'Étranger that I almost stopped reading before part two, "Competitive Advantage." It was worth sticking to it, though. Yes, the sex is unrealistically great 100% of the time for Michel and everyone else, but this is a philosophical novel and it's pretty clear that Houellebecq is contrasting perfection with the concluding events. His plan works.

I also can see why Muslims might not like this book--the putdown of Islam from the mouth of an Egyptian expat on 179 is devastating, and to this agnostic, hilarious.

The excessively passive protagonist is hard to connect to, but this story of how love happens kept me reading.

4 people found this helpful

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Kindle Customer

Very French

Reviewed in the United States on December 11, 2021

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Interesting, well written social commentary, brilliant and insightful, profane and prurient with a purpose.

One person found this helpful

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J Noordermeer

Tourism as a Platform for discussion

Reviewed in the United States on September 11, 2017

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Obviously much has already been written about Platform by Michel Houellebecq. The book is on its surface provocative, outrageous and at certain times even obscene, while underneath it plays very skillfully with complex themes through motifs. A story about a wild romance and the (sex)tourism sector is the backdrop for a thought provoking piece on immigration, Western principles, individualization, power structures, capitalism and many of its derivatives. I believe I got a good grasp of many of the concepts Houellebecq conveys to the reader, but this book contains so much that I must reread it many times before I truly understand all the aspects of this work.

4 people found this helpful

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Top reviews from other countries

D. Morris

Absolute tosh

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on November 14, 2022

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I struggled about halfway through, started skimming, and then gave up. The characters never come to life, the narrator himself being even more of a cipher than the rest, a tediously opinionated bore who makes sweeping generalizations about whole races and imagines these are profound statements rather than the sort of nonsense you might hear from a right-wing taxi driver.

The story alternates between anatomically unappealing sex scenes, drearily long and dry discussions of the modern world that come across like blog posts rather than real conversations, and lots of padding, including the narrator's reviews of other novels. Going in, I vaguely thought of Houellebecq as the French Ian McEwan; after 100 pages I realized that was very unfair to McEwan.

Sam Smith

Underwhelming story with poorly-developed characters

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on January 7, 2020

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I bought this book based on reviews of the author as an 'enfant terrible' of modern literature, and as I am a fan of chuck Palahniuk, Ryu Murukami, Irvine Welsh, etc, I thought this might be a new author I could get into.
Sadly the book is pretty dull. There are some gratuitous sex scenes which are delivered in a very matter-of-fact way, it's about as erotic as reading screenplay directions for a porn film. The rest of the plot follows a fairly predictable route along the 'western excesses and cultural desensitisation' theme, in the spirit of JG Ballard, William Boyd or Alex Garland, before trailing off to end in some very numb introspection by the narrator. I have read better erotic literature, and I've definitely read better novels.

3 people found this helpful

Oliver Twist

Valérie

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on March 22, 2012

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'Platform' is an existentialist love story. I must admit that I did find the novel good company. The narrator, Michel, a civil servant, takes an outsider's interest in business practices and customer psychology - areas which sound very dry, but which, in the author's hands, make for some interesting conversations. In between times, Houellebecq spices things up with sex - some of it quite erotic (as is intended) and some of it quite gratuitous.

There is a fair amount of literary criticism along the way, with digressions into the works of Agatha Christie, Conan Doyle and even John Grisham (for whom the narrator clearly has little time). There are also mentions for Enid Blyton's 'Famous Five' and Stevenson's 'Treasure Island'.

The only aspect of the novel which disappointed me was the ending. I did not like the fact that Michel totally gives up on life. I wanted to give him a shake - to tell him that stuff happens, and that you have to get over it. But, in mitigation, this is a character who has received a very severe shock, and who was, perhaps, more in love than he realised. And one whose grip on life was, at best, only half-hearted. But it still means that the novel ends on a bit of a downer.

'Platform' could also have done with more humour - although Michel is perhaps not the most naturally ebullient, or wittiest, of characters. But then, it would also be fair to say that humour is not a noted ingredient of French existentialist novels.

Neverthless, I stayed with 'Platform' quite happily to the end....and, overall, I did enjoy it.

5 people found this helpful

Alex Ireland

Different

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on February 3, 2009

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This book is lewd, strange, sinister, thought provoking, vivid, engaging and most of all: not for your Granny! If watching 'Eyes wide Shot' freaked you out, well then forget about 'Platform'. The plot is saturated with sexual references, sexual tension and sexual acts.

At times I was thinking if these were all removed, a 350 page book would perhaps be reduced to 40! So is there any substance to 'Platform' or is just soft porn with pseudo philosophical babbel?

I thought beneath the recurring sexual references there actually was a deeper and more meaningful story. This was of a man (Michel) trying to make sense of the world, his life and his meaning. Can he do this through lust, a loving relationship, a business challenge?

What's clear from the very beginning of the book is that a cliched holiday, with all it's shallow, stereotypical moments and cringe inducing interactions with fellow tourists certainly won't offer Michel anything he needs or interests him.

From the outset, it's clear he needs some sort of challenge that takes him outside of normality as normality pains him. This pitches him as an interesting character. In fact, one very strong facet of the book is character development. The author does a good job of bringing the reader very close up and personal with all the central characters by detailing very intimate details of their lifes, the sort of stuff only a very close friend would tell you. This makes both the characters and the story engaging.

The sexual saturation is boring at times, but overall the story's strong point besides character development is the subtle posing of some philosophical questions.

The book is certainly not the norm, if you're feeling in the mood for something different and are not easily offended, you might like it.

2 people found this helpful

deano c

Strong themed book that gets you thinking

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on August 11, 2012

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Michel is a complicated character. Obsessed with thinking about the sexual act, takes a vacation as part of his work to Thailand where he indulges in the debauchary offered in the country, paying for cheap sex. While he is there he views the hypocrisy of highly respected people(Islamists) indulging in paying for prostitution.
He seesm while there a woman called Valerie who Michel is too shy to approach, until he meets her back home in France, where he discovers has a highly paid job in the tourism industry, and begins a relationship.
Both highly sexed, the couple travel to different resorts around the world with her boss Jean Yves finding different openings for tourism. They both discover that all the tourist basically demanded wanted was sun,sea and casual sex.
The book delves in many themes. Religious hypocrisy,sexual addiction and the breakdown in values in some societies indifference to sex tourism. This outcry to the breakdown in values results in the end to the drastic events that spells disaster for Michel and Valerie.
Platform is a well written and intelligent book, that explores the seedy side to sex and the complications involved with prostitution.

2 people found this helpful

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Platform Paperback – July 13, 2004

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