- Raspail, Jean.
Le Camp des Saints.
Paris: Robert Laffont, [1973, 1978, 1985] 2006.
ISBN 978-2-221-08840-1.
-
This is one of the most hauntingly prophetic works of fiction
I have ever read. Although not a single word has been changed
from its original publication in 1973 to the present edition,
it is at times simply difficult to believe you're reading
a book which was published thirty-five years ago. The novel
is a metaphorical, often almost surreal exploration of the
consequences of unrestricted immigration from the third world
into the first world: Europe and France in particular, and how
the instincts of openness, compassion, and generosity which
characterise first world countries can sow the seeds of their
destruction if they result in developed countries being
submerged in waves of immigration of those who do not share
their values, culture, and by their sheer numbers and rate of
arrival, cannot be assimilated into the society which
welcomes them.
The story is built around a spontaneous, almost supernatural,
migration of almost a million desperate famine-struck residents
from the Ganges on a fleet of decrepit ships, to the “promised
land”, and the reaction of the developed countries along
their path and in France as they approach and debark. Raspail
has perfect pitch when it comes to the prattling of
bien pensants, feckless
politicians, international commissions chartered to talk
about a crisis until it turns into catastrophe, humanitarians
bent on demonstrating their good intentions whatever the
cost to those they're supposed to be helping and those who
fund their efforts, media and pundits bent on indoctrination instead
of factual reporting, post-Christian clerics, and the rest of
the intellectual scum which rises to the top and suffocates
the rationality which has characterised Western civilisation
for centuries and created the prosperity and liberty which makes it a
magnet for people around the world aspiring to individual achievement.
Frankly addressing the roots of Western exceptionalism and
the internal rot which imperils it, especially in the context
of mass immigration, is a sure way to get yourself branded a
racist, and that has, of course been the case with this book.
There are, to be sure, many mentions of “whites”
and “blacks”, but I perceive no evidence that
the author imputes superiority to the first or inferiority
to the second: they are simply labels for the cultures
from which those actors in the story hail. One character,
Hamadura, identified as a dark skinned
“Français de
Pondichéry” says (p. 357, my
translation), “To be white, in my opinion, is not a colour of skin,
but a state of mind”. Precisely—anybody, whatever
their race or origin, can join the first world, but the first
world has a limited capacity to assimilate new arrivals knowing
nothing of its culture and history, and risks being submerged
if too many arrive, particularly if well-intentioned cultural
elites encourage them not to assimilate but instead work for
political power and agendas hostile to the Enlightenment
values of the West. As Jim Bennett observed, “Democracy,
immigration, multiculturalism. Pick any two.”
Now, this is a novel from 1973, not a treatise on immigration and
multiculturalism in present-day Europe, and the voyage of the
fleet of the Ganges is a metaphor for the influx of immigrants into
Europe which has already provoked many of the cringing compromises of
fundamental Western values prophesied, of which I'm sure most
readers in the 1970s would have said, “It can't happen
here”. Imagine an editor fearing for his life for
having published a cartoon (p. 343), or
Switzerland being forced to cede
the values which have kept it peaceful and prosperous by
the muscle of those who surround it and the intellectual
corruption of its own elites. It's all here, and much more.
There's even a Pope Benedict XVI (albeit very unlike the
present occupant of the throne of St. Peter).
This is an ambitious literary work, and challenging
for non mother tongue readers. The vocabulary is enormous,
including a number of words you won't find even in the
Micro Bob. Idioms, many
quite obscure (for example “Les
carottes sont cuites”—all is lost),
abound, and references to them appear obliquely in the text.
The apocalyptic tone of the book (whose title is taken
from
Rev. 20:9)
is reinforced by many allusions to that Biblical prophecy.
This is a difficult read, which careens among tragedy, satire,
and farce, forcing the reader to look beyond political nostrums
about the destiny of the West and seriously ask what the
consequences of mass immigration without assimilation and
the accommodation by the West of values inimical to its own
are likely to be. And when you think that Jean Respail saw
all of this coming more than three decades ago, it almost
makes you shiver. I spent almost three weeks working my way
through this book, but although it was difficult, I always
looked forward to picking it up, so rewarding was it to
grasp the genius of the narrative and the masterful use of
the language.
An English translation is available.
Given the language, idioms, wordplay, and literary allusions
in the original French, this work would be challenging to
faithfully render into another language. I have not read the
translation and cannot comment upon how well it accomplished
this formidable task.
For more information about the author and his works, visit
his official Web site.
June 2008 