>At No. 10 Downing Street, negotiation are in progress. >The Non-European Commonwealth Committee has taken over London, politely as you please. Simple question of statistics. >They compare the figures and draw their conclusions. Really, how stupid! We never imagined there could be so many! The Queen receives the leaders of the “Paks,” stands aghast at one of their non-negotiable demands. Namely, that her younger son marry a Pakistani. To destroy a symbol or to make it their own? We could argue forever…
____
> We have to make a choice. Either we open our doors tothese people and take them in. Or we torpedo every one of their boats, at night, when it’s too dark to see their faces as we kill them. >Then we get out as fast as we can, before we’re tempted to save the survivors, and we put a bullet through our brain. Quick and clean. Mission accomplished.” >“The pilot who dropped the bomb on Hiroshima died quietly in his bed at eighty-three.” >“Maybe, Monsieur Perret, but those were different times. The armies of the West have learned a lot about guilt since then …” >“Captain,” the President interrupted, “if I gave you that order, would you carry it out?” >“I’ve given that question a lot of thought, monsieur. My answer would have to be no. But I suppose that’s part of the ‘psychological test’!”
>“Monsieur Orelle, without jumping to conclusions as to their final destination, may I ask if the government has any plans to ease the plight of these poor, suffering souls? It’s reaching a point where we can’t sit idly by … >” The speaker was one Ben Suad, alias Clément Dio, one of the monster’s most faithful minions, concoctor in chief of the poisonous slops poured piping hot each Monday into the feeble, comatose brains of the six hundred thousand readers of his weekly rag, served up in its fancy sauces. >Citizen of France, North African by blood, with an elegant crop of kinky hair and swarthy skin—doubtless passed down from a certain black harem slavegirl, sold to a brothel for French officers in Rabat (as he learned from the bill of sale in his family papers)—married to a Eurasian woman officially declared Chinese and author of several best-selling novels, Dio possessed a belligerent intellect that thrived on springs of racial hatred barely below the surface, and far more intense than anyone imagined. Like a spider deep in the midst of French public opinion, he had webbed it over so thick with fine gossamer strands that it scarcely clung to life. > A cordial type all the same, given to great informative bursts if he chose, though always one-way, sincere enough to put his convictions on the line and draw the occasional fire of intelligent colleagues—of whom there were fewer and fewer, alas!, and whom people had all long since stopped reading. In those topsy-turvy days the Left sprawled out in abundance, while the rightist press, in a hopeless muddle, languished alone in its trenches, deserted.
1/3
Bentley Stewart
>The home front, meanwhile, true to form, fraternized high and low, unabashed and unrestrained. Politically, Dio’s columns were something of a hash, whipped up with a proper dose of utopian pap. But most dangerous of all was his very special talent—unrivaled, in fact—for planting his mines through the waters of current French life, far and wide, just surface-deep, always finding those areas still intact, and larding them through with the deadly devices, spewed mass-produced from his prolific brain. >Jean Orelle, we should note, was one of his most devout readers, never missing the weekly pause in the journey along his ageing imagination, and confiding to his intimates, with a chuckle, that “this Dio chap” reminded him so of the fearless reformer he himself used to be, “Lots of nerve! Plenty of new ideas! And a real, burning passion for the everyday man, the citizen of the world!” >Yes, this Dio chap’s citizen of the world, in all his glory! Ah, what a dismal, repulsive creature!
>The journalist’s pen gave him many a size and shape, but one thing never changed: his contempt for tradition, his scorn for Western Man per Se, and above all the patriotic Frenchman. >Like a kind of anti-Joan of Arc, charged by King Dio with a thousandfold mission. To wit, to crush with the weight of shame and remorse the common, foot-slogging soldier of the Western World, lord of its ancient battles, deserted by all his generals to a man, but a powerful force all the same
2/3
Julian Ortiz
>In column after column, the anti-Joan became, by turns, an Arab workman, snubbed and insulted; a publisher of smut, hauled into court; a black bricklayer, exploited by his boss; a theater director with a censored play; a young Madonna from some leftist slum; a rioter, beaten for ripping up the streets; a café tough, shot in his tracks; a student terrorist; a schoolgirl on the pill; the head of a people’s culture center, summarily fired; a marijuana prophet; a rebel leader dispensing guerrilla justice; a married priest; an adolescent lecher; an incestuous author; a guru of pop; a female dead from an overdose of love; a pummeled Egyptian, a poisoned Greek, a Spaniard, gunned down; a reporter, attacked and beaten; a protester crapping on the Unknown Soldier; a hunger striker, soft in the head; a Vietnam deserter; a big-chief thug from the wrong side of town; a faggot with a medical excuse; a sadistic schoolboy tormenting his teacher; a rapist, mind twisted by racks of hard-core porn; a kidnapper, sure of his righteous cause; an incurable delinquent, victim of his genes or society’s pressures; an abortionist butcher, screaming for his human rights; a Brazilian backwoods wench, sold into São Paulo salons; an Indian dying from a tourist’s measles; a murderer calling for prison reform; a bishop spouting Marx in his pastoral letters; a car thief, mad for speed; a bank thief, mad for publicity’s easy life; a maidenhead thief, mad for free and easy sex; a Bengali dead of starvation …
3/3
Tyler Cook
Bonus:
>And so many more. So many crusading heroes, skilllully chosen to please and persuade. Which they usually did. And why not? When the heart gives way, it’s a Turkish bazaar. Freedom is all or nothing. With the likes of this would-be heartrending rabble, these pseudopathetic peons beating his battering rams against the gates, Dio knew that, in time, he was sure to smash them down. >When freedom expands to mean freedom of instinct and social destruction, then freedom is dead. And all the slimy Dio-larvae teem on its corpse, ready to burst into great black moths, heralding angels of the antiworid.
Owen Davis
I've bought it 1 week ago. It's in my shelf but there are a few other books I have to finish before that. Have a bump anyways. Your OPic is very related indeed.
Jacob Cook
Thanks Hans. It read itself like a satire of today 45 years before it happened, just open a page randomly and you will find something relatable to the today situation, you could also read it without following the order of the chapters.
Nicholas Rodriguez
I read your posts, sounds like pretentious drivel, convince me it's not.
Luis Watson
But how could he predict that when it sounded so outrageous back then? I understand that you might try to imagine something weird or dystopic when writing a novel but something that sounds psychologically so unreasonable shouldn't make it in a book.
What do you think was the inspiration for the author?
Jaxon Sanders
youtube.com/watch?v=dv13gl0a-FA I made a thread about the book a month ago and you posted the exact same shit user, if I didn't convince you last time then there is not point trying again. Also isn't it the middle of the night in Australia ?
Ethan Rodriguez
It's 2am I don't recall saying these things before but it might have happened, sorry Pierre.
Isaac Kelly
>What do you think was the inspiration for the author?
i haven't finished it yet but it's not pretentious at all, just well written. i don't know about the translation though. btw fiction often seizes reality more accurately than sociology or philosophy
Brandon Perez
>Noone can rescue you from your own laziness. >It's lazy to spend time wisely Stop being a pretentious cunt and answer the question—if you can.
Literally 3 clicks away, I can't resume a 400 pages book in a post but it's basically the story of millions of migrants from the third world moving to Europe and the reaction of our pussified western world.
The book is incredible because it is absolutely prophetic, the characters and the reactions are oddly similar to what we see today, it has been written in 1973 so around 40 years before Lampedusa events or when Merkel decided to welcome muslims with open arms.
It's of the same caliber as 1984 or Brave New World even if it's not sci-fi owillingly dystopian.
Kevin Ortiz
Alright, thanks
Tyler Sanchez
great book!
Grayson Butler
>There is a great interview of Jean Raspail with english subs here if you want: Thanks a lot, Pierre.
You know, I don't particularly like the French, I don't understand them and their mentality very well. I've had difficulties to learn the language, too. We've always had the misfortune living next to each other with these presuppositions. But damn, if you haven't brought forward some great thinkers in your nation. The post war literature of France is easily double that of Germany in quality. There is nothing daring in Germany anymore, I feel. Culturally you have much more confidence than we have today.
