I’ve noticed in recent weeks a tendency to read books through the lens of the Trump administration. I’ve found this to be especially true in work that features cartoonish corruption, creeping authoritarianism and post-apocalyptic dystopia.
Just as every war movie is a commentary on both the war it depicts and the war being fought when the film was made, the current administration invites comparison to the worst aspects of our society. It’s a sign of the times I suppose. But I didn’t expect to find it in a 19th century book about Satanism.
J.K. Huysman’s Là-bas was published in 1891 after it was serialized in a French newspaper. The book is infamous for supposedly having the most accurate description of a black mass in Western literature. The black mass is pretty lame by 21st century standards and reading it was a bit like listening to Mötley Crüe.
Much to my surprise, Là-bas is, in its own way, a charming book about a writer and his circle of friends who are all obsessed with the Middle Ages. They gather to discuss the “lost arts” of astrology, bell ringing, homeopathy and magic.
The writer, an odd fellow named Durtal, is writing a book about Gilles de Rais who fought alongside Joan of Arc in the 15th century, was obsessed with alchemy, may have invented modern theater, and most certainly murdered hundreds of children in heinous fashion. Durtal’s research leads him to people with a passion for arcane details that can help him with his project and who share his dissatisfaction with the modern age.
Like most novels written in serial fashion, Là-bas is not without its faults. Durtal’s introduction to Satanism is facilitated through Madame Chantelouve with whom he is having a most improbable affair. After receiving an anonymous letter, much hand wringing ensues until the “amorous somersaults” are finally consummated.
But what I found most striking was Durtal’s renunciation of society, a sentiment one can find every night of the week in political conversations on Twitter.
“Literature has only one excuse for existing; it saves the person who makes it from the disgustingness of life.”
I read these lines the night Trump’s short-lived communication director, Anthony Scaramucci, told The New Yorker that he wasn’t an enthusiast of auto-fellatio like other members of Trump’s staff.
At the end of Là-bas, Durtal and his friends allow themselves to express some hope for the future just as a throng in the street gathers to celebrate the results of an election. One gets the sense that Durtal wishes he could summon an army of Satan’s demons to wipe the slate clean.
I know the feeling.