There is a crop of outstanding writers in France right now and we are so lucky that some of them are getting translated. The Mammals is the first work of Pierre Merot translated into English and I sincerely hope that it will not be the last. His French wikipedia article mentions seven novels and notes that they are all quite different - how hopeful that is for us.

The Mammal covers ground much beloved by several modern French writers: the loser; or perhaps, the failure. In a world where success is everything and the heroic is what everybody is supposed to aspire toward writers like Merot, Houllebecq and Toussaint courageously address the lives of the majority of us - the lives of those who fail. Merot’s central character in The Mammals is the Uncle: a drinker, a bachelor, twice divorced and an uncle. Here is man who has failed to find the spark in his work or his love life. It is not that he has not tried. It is just that he has failed at most things: just as most of us do. He does not fail heroically: there is nothing heroic about him at all unless it is his capacity for alcohol though once more he is no heroic drinker.

The Mammals of the title are his parents and most specifically his overbearing mother and his family is just another of the things he has failed at. They have failed him too and now in his forties he lives at home. His failures are the failures of a 21st century Everyman and are therefore important to all of us.

At least he had a novel written about him and so I suppose he is not a complete failure or a real loser.

A l'époque où j'ai acheté ce livre, les premiers romans de Houellebecq exerçaient une forte attraction sur moi. Du coup, je cherchais des pistes à explorer dans ce style, et Mérot était parfois comparé à l'auteur de Plateforme. Pour une raison qui m'échappe. Mammifère ne m'a pas retenu plus d'une cinquantaine de pages. Dès les premières lignes, je trouvais ce livre plat et sans intérêt. J'ai abandonné la lecture, je ne sais pas si j'ai bien fait ou non, mais quand bien même la parenté avec Houellebecq s'avérerait justifiée, j'en ai depuis fait le tour, et je n'y reviendrais probablement plus... ( )

This leads one to define what a novel is. The author says it's a novel. It is categorized as a novel. But is it really a novel? There is no character development. No plot. Just a series of witty observations of alcoholism and the general failures of a ne'er do well uncle, the failed son of a respectable family. The wit keeps you going. The story, I found vaguely repulsive. Or was it the uncle whom I found vaguely repulsive. ( )

Pierre Merot's 'Mammals'--the first book of his to be translated into English from the French is IMO very remarkable. More or less the philosophies, opinions and peregrinations of an alcoholic 40 something year old bachelor/fuck up skewering the pretensions of contemporary French society--which is not really much of a reach from other western societies. Writers that might immediately come to mind--Bukowski, Henry Miller, Celine, Houellebecq. Merot fits comfortably in this kind of literary grouping. Coming from a well to do family--the protagonist known as Uncle--despite being a benificiary of a quality education feels at odds with the ambitions and pretensions of his family and friends. He jumps from job to job and from bed to bed--the only really constant things in his life are booze and a kind of sarcastic alienation. FWIW though the book is thought provoking--particularly his thoughts on the battle of the sexes and are quite often laugh out loud funny. I'm not sure this would be everybody's cup of tea but for me personally it is very well worth the investment and Merot is someone I'm going to have an eye on in the future. ( )

A novel of contemporary ennui, centered on uncle’s life, Mammals refers to the deformities of modern society ...
http://www.literaryagenda.com/28645/ ( )