As a reluctant declinist, I purchased the new Asterix book with the firm intention of hating every page. I already had a good opening line in my head: “After Star Wars, Indiana Jones, Harry Potter, and Tolkien, the decline of the Asterix franchise continues relentlessly, etc. etc.” Unfortunately—or fortunately—things are not quite so clear-cut, because the new Asterix volume is not that bad at all, even if it cannot really be described as “good.”
At first glance, the story itself seems rather atypical for an Asterix volume, as it is less about a real ‘adventure’ that takes our heroes across the ancient world, but more about the consequences of the sinister machinations of Visusversus, a Roman doctor visually modelled on the French star intellectual Bernard-Henri Lévy. Visusversus is commissioned by Caesar to demoralise the recalcitrant Gauls and motivate the Roman legionnaires through a whole series of self-discovery and mindfulness slogans: the ‘small village’ is to be transported into post-history, as it were, through mental manipulation and thus rendered incapable of fighting—an astonishingly ideologically-charged theme, and one many readers would appreciate.
However, the impression gained from reading the book is rather ambivalent. The new author, ‘Fabcaro,’ has succeeded not only in incorporating an astonishing—indeed almost baroque—quantity of diverse and successful jokes into the dialogue (even for an Asterix volume), but also in making fun of many of the current problems of ‘post-historical’ man. Individualism, self-development, relativism, conflict avoidance, inclusivity, mindfulness, climate change, and the like are all part of the narrative. Plus, the dark suspicion that these elements could be deliberately used by sinister power-holders and ideological manipulators to control social and political processes. Indeed, much of the subtext of the new Asterix could actually have been political dynamite—if the author had not shied away from his own courage. For the magazine is unable (or unwilling) to play out the civilisational diagnosis made at the beginning and prefers prudently to leave the initial storyline in the middle of the narrative without ever really returning to it.
Thus, the first half of “The White Iris” vividly shows how the feminising effect of modern individualistic and conflict-averse consumer and mindfulness culture is rapidly undermining the fighting morale of the Gallic village, as well as its familial cohesion. But it does not (until the end of the story) present a real antidote to this development. However, the initial hypothesis that similar ‘mind training’ would give the legionnaires their striking power back remains just as undeveloped as the suggestion that the Roman decomposition strategy would be able to override the effect of the magic potion in one way or another. These two obvious plot holes create a certain frustration in the middle of the story as to what it is actually supposed to be about. Instead, it is precisely at this point, when the story cannot (or refuses to) develop further on its own, that it suddenly turns into a burlesque chase to Lutetia. Visusversus is no longer concerned with reversing the disparity between the Gaulish village and the Romans, but rather with abducting the village’s chieftainess—disappointed by her husband—in order to force the village to surrender.
On the penultimate page of the story, and although Visusversus’ “White Iris” experiment was actually extremely successful, Caesar decides to abandon the entire project for rather unclear reasons. Meanwhile, the Gaulish village has ‘somehow’ automatically returned to its original cultural resilience after the return of our heroes on the last page—somewhat forced attempts to bring the story to a more or less satisfactory finish at a moment when it is helplessly blocked. Thus, despite promising beginnings, the “White Iris” does not stand up to the most superficial examination of coherence and stringency. Did the scenario writer realise that the question of ‘post-historical’ man was too hot an issue and that, if it were developed purely on its own, it could only run counter to the pure entertainment character of the Asterix franchise and to what the publisher could be expected to do politically?
Admittedly, in contrast to other ‘new’ Asterix volumes, which have—not without reason—been accused of being overly politically correct, the “White Iris” thankfully brings back a little of the original bite that still makes the old volumes so worth reading today. But this bite is limited to a rather apolitical portrayal of the ‘mores’ of our time, which will probably be acknowledged by both Left and Right without much offence. This leaves the impression of an inoffensive chamber play which, to paraphrase Siegfried Kracauer, is ultimately more supportive of the regime than truly critical. Today, France threatens to drag the whole of Europe into the abyss sooner or later, due to mountains of debt, recession, mass immigration, crime, political scandals, and the hydrocephaly of Parisian bureaucracy. And as the world observes this state of affairs, readers of Asterix are treated to innocent and gratuitous jokes about abstract art, delayed express trains, singing bowls, Nouvelle Cuisine minimalism and hipster beards. In the end, only those “conflicts” are being invoked that have no real meaning in view of the subliminal issues lurking beneath. One comes away from reading this Asterix volume with the sense of having been exposed to a kind of controlled opposition that avoids labelling the ideology behind these alleged ‘lifestyle issues.’
Of course, one probably should not expect much more from a comic, and it is misguided to seek any kind of genuine political statement in an Asterix volume, however bad the current situation in France may be. Even a certain neutrality and an ‘audiatur et altera pars,’ as they occasionally shine through here, already represent a clear step forward compared to recent volumes. The general principle applies here as everywhere else: if you really want to change things, you should not expect hope from the long-established institutions that are an integral part of the system, but rather create something new yourself. Rather than complain about the new Asterix, perhaps the conservative-minded should create a series ourselves that is not a copy but an original creation and that asks all the questions that we miss in the mainstream—and this applies not only to Asterix, but to modern media culture as a whole. The real problem is that many conservatives are satisfied with just criticising, complaining, and grumbling. Thus, they define themselves entirely through sterile rejection, without taking the reins and producing what they miss elsewhere.
