Thanks for the links, Johnny. I got Crash out of the library today and sat reading a bit of it in the car in the sun in our parking lot, which actually brought the text home a bit more to me, the feel of the steering wheel, the seat, the dials and dashes. Man, what a beautiful, extreme, disturbing, depressing book. The lyrical car-death-fuck passages in the first couple of chapters seem, to me, Burroughs-inspired, though I may be wrong. It's very poetic and sort of beautiful...but he's waxing lyrical about the most insane shit you/he could imagine. Not very enjoyable, but admirable in an extreme sort of way, in that he went as far out as he went and never censored himself. You can't fault that. I think that bad review is bullshit, by the way.
“Ballard’s own uneasiness about ‘Crash’ is clear from his shifting pronouncements about it; he himself can never quite decide if it is a cautionary tale with a moral purpose, a deeply immoral and corrupting book, or a dispassionate forensic examination of a repressed cultural logic.” - Andrzej Gasiorek in his great litcrit Ballard tome.
http://laurahird.com/newreview/jgballard.htmlI wonder if Elizabeth Taylor ever read the book (though I doubt it) and, if she did, what she thought of it. Doubt she'd have been happy - probably would have made her afraid to drive on motorways...