Provocative travelogue leaves a bitter taste

Lanzarote by Michel Houellebecq(William Heinemann, (pounds) 9.99) Garlanded by the French literary establishment for his fiction and his poetry, demonised by Muslims, and pilloried elsewhere for his politically incorrect chat-show pronouncements and unflinching world view, it seems Houellebecq splits opinion like no other European author writing today.

His latest work, a novella masquerading as a short travel journal, is unlikely to cause as much controversy as Platform or Atomised, his previous two novels. But it distills the themes of those two works into a bite-sized taster. Moral disengagement, a questioning of religion, a concern with sexual libertarianism and personal freedom are set against the blasted landscape of volcanic Lanzarote. Our listless anti-hero, riven by millennial ennui, enters a travel agency on December 14, 1999, and books a week at a resort on the island. Cue much rumination on the awfulness of travel agents and the tourist flotsam they send to litter the world's beaches every year.

Soon after his arrival, the narrator hooks up with a sad-looking Belgian called Rudi and a pair of dungaree-clad German lesbians, Pam and Barbara. Rudi is a policeman whose Moroccan wife left him five years earlier and returned to North Africa. She took their two children with her and he hasn't seen them since. "She went back to her stupid f***ing Islam," says Rudi, over mouthfuls of potato in the hotel restaurant.

Pam and Barbara aren't "exclusive", as the narrator finds out when he and Rudi hire a jeep and invite them along to tour the island and visit the more secluded bathing areas. The sex scenes are trademark Houellebecq: cold, graphic, apeing the dead-eyed detachment of the skin flick. A deliberate cliche - or an indication of Houellebecq's genuine obsession with swingers? As ever, it's hard to tell.

The holiday takes a surreal turn when Rudi disappears, leaving only a letter in which he explains that he's decided to join the Azraelians, a quasi-religious cult led by hippie-turned-guru Philippe Leboeuf. They have a centre on Lanzarote and a simple credo of alien worship underpinned by communal sex. In his letter, Rudi reiterates his hatred of Islam and his reasons for joining the cult.

The novella ends some months later when the narrator, back in Paris, sees Rudi's face staring out from a newspaper. He and other Azraelians are on trial on paedophilia charges. Rudi is personally charged with molesting an 11-year-old Moroccan girl in what appears to have been a consensual relationship.

Houellebecq - for we assume he is the narrator - signs off without any sort of judgement, a position he has maintained throughout this sour and provocative novella. Lanzarote might not provoke as much ire in Gran Canaria as Platform did in France, but Houellebecq may want to avoid going there for a while.

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