From the Telegraph's obituary of J. G. Ballard:
In 1973 Ballard’s obsession with car accidents came to fruition with the publication of Crash. The book put forward the unusual theory that only through intimate contact with a car (in the form of accidents) can humans achieve true eroticism...Crash put forward no such theory. It described a couple who become enthralled by a man whose deep and constant - and completely unusual - eroticism includes but is not limited to an erotic fascination with road accidents and disfigurement. Running Wild is a short novel, not a book of short stories.
[...]
After producing two more books of short stories, Running Wild (1988) and War Fever (1990)...
This contemptible newspaper can't even be bothered to get basic facts right about one of the greatest writers in the English language of modern times.
3 comments:
Was he really that good? Wow. To be honest I read his stuff from cover to cover and didn't find it all that great at all. Usually there is something wonderful or delicious in the writing of people who are held in such high esteem. Didn't see it myself. You are dead right about the Telegraph. With luck and more access to source materials newspapers days will soon be numbered. At the same time it would be good to see the UK blogosphere (off the back of the smeargate stuff) fully broaden out.
One of life's more amazing experiences was Super-Cannes on a morphine drip. The Secret History by Donna Tartt also benefitted from this treatment.
To be fair, nary a newspaper could boast its total lack of bloopers.
And yes, to my taste Ballard was one of the greatest.
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