Around ten years ago I encountered J. G. Ballard's Crash for the first time. And I was disgusted within a matter of a few pages. The incessant and grating descriptions of car crashes and sexual climaxes seemed pointless, not to mention repulsive. I was also disappointed to find the author of such visionary fictions such as The Drowned World, amount to nothing but a cheap, sensationalist pornographer. Fast forward to today, when in a caffeine haze I galloped through the first 50 pages again. The book seems completely changed now. It is, if anything, honest in it's decision to stick to it's theme of marrying technology with sexuality. There is no cheap moralizing, nothing but a razor sharp introspection into the twisted psychology behind explosions and car crashes. In the aftermath of the Vegas shooting, Ballard is more relevant than ever before. The context may be gun violence, but the appeal remains the same. Incidents come and go, but our acceptance of them betrays a perv...
Short reviews on anything and everything visual