Free The Map and the Territory by Michel Houellebecq Page A

Mademoiselle Sheremoyova, with whom I believe—” again he searched for the right words, which is a disadvantage with former pupils of the Polytechnique; they’re a bit cheaper to hire than those of the École Nationale d’Administration, but they take more time finding their words; finally, he noticed that he was off subject. “In short, we’ve concluded that marketing them directly through our networks is unthinkable. It’s out of the question for us to appear to take away your artistic independence. I believe,” he continued uncertainly, “that usually the trade in artworks happens via
galleries …
”
    “I don’t have a gallerist.”
    “That’s what I understood. So, I thought of the following arrangement. We could look after the designing of an Internet site where you would present your works, and put them directly on sale. Naturally the site would be in your name—Michelin would be mentioned nowhere. I believe it’s best that you personally oversee the making of the prints. That said, we can completely handle the logistics and the shipping.”
    “I agree.”
    “That’s perfect, perfect. This time, I believe we’re genuinely in a win-win situation!” he enthused. “I have formalized all that in a draft contract, which of course I will leave for you to study.”
    Jed went out into a very bright long corridor; in the distance a bay window looked out onto the arches of La Défense; the sky was a splendid winter blue, which appeared almost artificial—a phthalo blue, Jedfleetingly thought. He was walking slowly, hesitantly, as if he were crossing cotton wool; he knew that he had just reached a new turning point in his life. The door of Olga’s office was open and she smiled at him.
    “Well, it’s exactly as you told me.”

7
    Jed’s studies had been purely literary and artistic, and he had never had the occasion to meditate on the capitalist mystery par excellence: that of
price formation
. He had opted for Hahnemühle FineArt canvas, which offered an excellent saturation of colors and very good performance over time. But with this paper the correct calibration of colors was difficult to achieve and very unstable. The Epson driver wasn’t quite right, either, so he decided to limit himself to twenty enlargements per photo. A print cost him about thirty euros; he thought he would offer them at two hundred euros on the site.
    When he put the first photograph online, an enlargement of the Hazebrouck region, the series was sold out in a little under three hours. Obviously, the price wasn’t quite right. After a few tentative weeks it stabilized at around two thousand euros for a 40-by-60-format print. There, that was now sorted out: he knew his
market price
.
    Spring was settling over Paris, and without having planned it, he was becoming comfortably well off. In April, they noticed with surprise that his monthly income had just overtaken Olga’s. That year, the long weekends in May were exceptional: May Day fell on a Thursday, as did VE Day—then there was Ascension Day, and it all ended with the long weekend of Pentecost. The new French Touch catalogue had just come out. Olga had supervised its production, occasionally correcting the texts proposed by the hoteliers, choosing the photos, and having themretaken if those proposed by the establishments didn’t seem sufficiently attractive.
    Evening was falling on the Jardin du Luxembourg. They sat out on the balcony in the mild air; the last cries of children were disappearing in the distance, and the gates would soon be closed for the night. Of France Olga basically knew only Paris, Jed thought as he flicked through the French Touch guide; and he, in truth, hardly knew more. Throughout the guide, France appeared as an enchanted land, a mosaic of superb
terroirs
spangled with châteaux and manors, of an astonishing variety but in which, everywhere,
life was good
.
    “Would you like to go away this weekend?” he proposed as he put down the volume.