Product Description

The cult status of "Crash" has intensified since its original publication in 1973, making it a classic of underground literature. In this hallucinatory novel, the car provides the hellish tableau in which Vaughan, a 'TV scientist', experiments with erotic atrocities among crash victims, each more sinister than the last: ultimately, he craves a union of blood, semen and engine coolant in a head-on collision with Elizabeth Taylor.

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #148560 in Books
• Published on: 1995-01-19
• Original language: English
• Binding: Paperback
• 208 pages

Review
In my opinion Crash is the finest post-war, avant-garde British novel. Indeed, I would argue that it's almost the last one as well. Ostensibly the story of a road-accident victim who becomes embroiled in a sinister sado-masochistic cult, the members of which stage car crashes in order to get their kicks, Crash is in fact a profound critique of that aspect of modernity the author has so pithily described as 'the Death of Affect'. Ballard writes about a world without feeling, dominated by stylization, media and the cult of celebrity. It remained fresh, powerful and shocking. And, of course, it was amazingly prescient. Review by Will Self, whose books include 'Great Apes' (Kirkus UK)

Science-fictioneer Ballard extends his field of vision beyond the genre in a death directed if not obsessed vista where sexuality and "perverse" - a recurrent word - technology, the technology of the automobile, are on the same vector - not only seemingly interchangeable as well as indivisible. Ballard has almost written his book in blood and semen (again recurrent, discharged everywhere) as if to reduce the distance between the cock and the cockpit. You might be reminded of Robbe-Grillet - so much of this is accomplished through the cine-camera technique via Vaughan, a computer "scientist as hoodlum," one of the recording eyes (the other is Ballard himself); there are the same photovisual jump shots, the same junctions and repetitions. And of course the orgasm or the little death as it has been called becomes the larger one as his speed freaks (yes, they are both kinds) propel themselves toward the larger death ahead. A comparison to The Clockwork Orange has been made and it is justified by its ugly, hostile, metallic insistence. And also as such, it qualifies as a bravura performance with a whiplash impact. Whether or not you choose to be there is something else again. (Kirkus Reviews)

From the Publisher
'Ballard is amongst our finest writers of fiction' Anthony Burgess

About the Author
J.G. Ballard was born in 1930 in Shanghai, where his father was a businessman. After internment in a civilian prison camp, he and his family returned to England in 1946. He published his first novel, 'The Drowned World', in 1961. His 1984 bestseller 'Empire of the Sun' won the Guardian Fiction Prize and the James Tait Black Memorial Prize, and was shortlisted for the Booker Prize. It was later filmed by Steven Spielberg. His most recent novel is 'Kingdom Come', published in 2006, his autobiogaphy 'Miracles of Life' was published in 2008 to much acclaim.

Customer Reviews

Brilliant even though lots of people say so
Relentlessly aggressive and pornographic in a psycho-geographical kind of way. Brilliant even though lots of people say so. Deeply unsettling and explicit even though countless commentators have initiated it into the bland halls of literary classic. Not misogynistic even though it is, in a way, all about misogynism and inadequate manhood. Its vivid portraits (after Francis Bacon?) of genitalia and instrument panels, blood and torn flesh and semen and scars, all of that, is brought forth by a detached and clinical eye. Which is (a good bit of) the point. I found it both more engrossing and repetitive than I expected. And occassionally moving. The refluxes of libidinal modern landscapes mirror the obsessions of Ballard and Vaughan, rendered universal by their compulsions to repeat (even if some of the rest of us aren't particularly keen on sex and death in the twisted wrecks of four-lane motorways and airport bypasses). As Ani Difranco says: "my c*nt is a wound that won't heal" - that's what Crash is like. Despite (or because of) this unforgiving repetition, it seems to have more essence of Ballard than anything else that I've read of his. Yes, its original. Yes, its revolting. Yes, it offends the right kind of people. But this is a deeply affecting and memoral book for more reasons than that.

Morbid melding of man and machine
The concerns of this novel are even more immediate today than they were when it was written some thirty years ago. Traffic volumes relentlessly increase and the shaping of the human psyche by technology grows deeper with every passing year. This is the theme of 'Crash'and one which pervades much science-fiction and speculative writing. The core of this novel is about the relationship between humanity and technology - the melding of man and machine.

The car is a potent symbol of this marriage and a violent crash the ultimate wedding. Just stand on any motorway footbridge during the evening rush-hour and Ballard's evocative prose is brought to mind. Just watch the streams of high-speed traffic flowing endlessly beneath the setting sun; each car containing within itself the potential for any number of complex collisions. The sexual urge is somehow translated into the urge to drive at speed and with the obsession with the forms of the car in all its curvatures. Indeed the many graphic sexual references in the book are clinical, stylised and highlighted in relation to an all-pervasive technology.

The backdrop of the novel is the alienating no-man's land on the sprawling outskirts of a metropolis (London). Most of the action takes place on motorway intersections, slip-roads, fly-overs, car-parks and airport terminals. In this world man has most definitely sold his soul with little return.

The writing style here is an acquired taste. Although Ballard's ideas are vivid and original the descriptive phraseology can be repetitive in structure. If you like novels with pace and well-defined plot then this book would be anathema to you. 'Crash' is almost a montage of highly descriptive vignettes played over the Outer-London wasteland: the connecting thread being the obsessional antics of Vaughan as seen from the viewpoint of Ballard (himself a character in the first person). In Vaughan we follow the development of the man/technology marriage taken to its extreme conclusion.

The sexual possibilities inherent in technology are quite fascinatingly described in these pages. The writer's obsession with the various components of a car's structure in relation to the human body and its functions become almost comically tiresome as the book progresses - but this very repetitiveness itself, like passing lights on a motorway, emphasises the soullessness and alienation of auto-technology. The scene in the automatic car-wash is particularly memorable and was picked up on to brilliant effect by Cronenberg in his 1996 screen version of the novel.

'Crash'is a novel of complex ideas and if the writer is unfamiliar to you, I think his earlier works such as 'The Drought' and 'The Drowned World' make an easier introduction. However 'Crash' can provide an enjoyable read in spite of its idiosyncratic style, disturbing content and pessimistic tone. One thing is for sure- after reading 'Crash'your experience of a high-speed motorway journey will never be quite the same again.

A great modern classic
If you ever hear someone moan that "There are no classics anymore." or ask "Are there any great British writers still alive?" point them to Ballard and arguably his masterpiece, Crash.

I say arguably, because the catalogue of J G Ballard is littered with classics. Empire of the Sun, Crystal World, Attrocity Exhibition and more, far more.

This is not a book for everyone. Ballard is not to all tastes, at least not at first. If you try Crash and feel alienated from it or find that it leaves a bad taste in your mouth, try his short stories and work your way back to Crash once you've adjusted to him & acquired a taste for his style, his subject matter and his characters.

But don't be put off by anyone who claims to find Crash 'turgid' or worse. To not read Crash is really rather shameful.