In the world of this enigmatic French novelist there is nihilism, violence and a lot of sex, but little tenderness, hope or dignity. Yet some Catholic critics hail him as a prophet

Philip Larkin having a memorial stone in Poet’s Corner raised eyebrows, not least due to his sometimes caustic comments about religion, something he describes in “Aubade” as “That vast moth-eaten musical brocade / Created to pretend we never die.” But there is something uncanny about the way religion haunts Larkin’s poems. His “moth-eaten brocade” suggests a Christianity that spookily lingers in the atmosphere. His epitaph points to its remnant: “What will survive of us is love.” He referred to himself as agnostic – but an “Anglican agnostic”.

Whatever one thinks about Larkin and Westminster Abbey, it is fair to say that most cathedrals in other countries might hesitate to memorialise a vaguely Christian agnostic. Take Notre-Dame. In France, when it comes to Christianity and modernity, it’s either/or. It’s usually taken for granted that they are mutually exclusive.

This makes Michel Houellebecq – whose latest novel, Serotonin, was published in English at the end of last month – all the more intriguing. Probably France’s best-known literary figure, Houellebecq’s second novel, Atomised, brought him fame, won the 1998 Prix Novembre, and is now regarded as a classic. It was followed three years later by Platform, widely criticised for its disparaging comments about Islam. In 2010, The Map and the Territory won him the Prix Goncourt, and led to another rumpus, this time over his alleged plagiarising from Wikipedia. Submission – in which an Islamist party wins the 2022 French presidential election – was published in 2015 on the day of the Charlie Hebdo attacks. He was awarded the Légion d’honneur on 1 January this year.