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Judith ShulevitzA friend of mine calls this novel Houellebecq's Annie Hall, a description that strikes me as apt for two reasons. First, because, like Woody Allen in that movie, Houellebecq portrays himself here less as a clown than as the established artist he has become, however ambivalently, and grapples with his place in the culture. Second, because this novel is extremely funny, in the dark, disconcerting mode of which both Allen and Houellebecq are masters.
—The New York Times Book Review