J.G. Ballard
Like sex? Like cars? Like colliding them together at high-paced speeds, then humping like bunnies to get the biggest adrenaline rush since... well, since sex was invented? Yeah. Me too. Think science fiction and dark, noir, high tension; worlds where what you expect from Chuck get raped by what you expect from Stephen King, then dumped in the trunk of your car and driven straight on into the future. Think Blade Runner (or even better, Neuromancer by William Gibson) and porn, and then turn the notch up maybe fifty degrees. Then sit and simmer. And then? Burn, baby. Burn.
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Comments
Crash. I re-read it perpetually. As tightly focused and dangerous a book as it gets. Not a needless syllable in the entire piece. Novelist Will Self described its effect best when he said that he only has to look at a few paragraphs of Crash to feel in the presence of an extreme mind. I've always thought of Fight Club as in the same vien as Ballard's novel.