Unenjoyable art: J. G. Ballard’s Crash

Jamal

The novel Crash has haunted me since I read it six or seven months ago. And that’s odd, because I didn’t even like it, in fact dismissed it as a failed experiment. Well, to come to terms with this I wrote something about it yesterday and put it somewhere else online, but now I’ve decided to put it here to see if others have anything to say about it. It’s not exactly a review, since I don’t really discuss anything specific. I guess it’s about what the novel means to me, because despite my initial dislike, it definitely has come to mean something, though I’m not sure what. Here’s what I’m thinking…

Popular fiction, it is said, is entertaining, while literature, on the other hand, is good for you, enjoyment being irrelevant or merely a bonus in the realm of high art. The pizza vs. turnip soup theory of literature. It’s clear to me that this is wrong, not least because I find popular fiction boring, and have the most fun with the unique and challenging works.

This leaves me wondering what to make of Crash, J. G. Ballard’s notorious novel about people who are sexually aroused by car crashes. I read it a few months ago and didn’t enjoy it, and I was quite dismissive of it when I got to the end. But now I find it’s still lodged in my mind like a psychic tumour that may or may not be benign. Thus—I now think—it must be a powerful work of art. What else could do that?

(Incidentally, that wasn’t just an empty metaphor. The sense in which this tumour, this memory of the novel, might be malignant, is that it seems to be reinforcing my turn away from optimism—about life, humanity, and progress—and towards an all-encompassing cynicism.)

What it comes down to is that I no longer believe that the things I didn’t like about it justify a negative judgement on its worth as a work of art. Yes, it is quite amazingly tedious and repetitive. Yes, it is cold, joyless and repugnant. But it turns out these are the things that make it so memorable and, at least in retrospect, stimulating.

I think it follows that at least some excellent works of literature are not entertaining, delightful, or enjoyable.

Of course, it’s obvious that there are great novels that are harrowing, sad, and depressing. That’s not what I’m on about. Those books are often compelling, dramatic, and exciting in their artful exploration of misery, depravity, etc., and are therefore in some sense entertaining. And we care about the characters. But Crash, on the contrary, is boring and alienating. It feels flat, it is unvarying in mood, uninteresting in plot, reliant on what seems to be a gimmick from start to finish, and we don’t care about the characters. It is not suspenseful or particularly compelling, and one reads on with only a mild curiosity about what will happen. And yet, it really does capture something profound.

To say it’s profound looks like hand-waving, a mere gesture towards a proper identification of what makes it good. It is that, but it fits well in my case because I experienced the novel as somehow philosophical. I realized this when, in the days after I read it, I was trying and failing to shake off its lingering presence, and was at the same time becoming preoccupied with philosophy for the first time in many months, specifically social philosophy such as critical theory. If I had to boil it down I’d say the motivating question was something like: how did we get in this mess? It was as if the novel had revealed some deep thing wrong with society, something whose details and causes I wanted to uncover. There was something about the book that felt real, despite its absurdity. So I didn’t go back to fiction for a few months and spent my reading hours with Adorno, Marx, and Nietzsche.

Perhaps, then, Crash is profound in that it is postmodern in more than just the formal literary sense. Its concerns are not with storytelling—with itself—so much as with the postmodern condition, i.e., with the real world we live in today (and have been living in since the seventies). It's possible this makes it a modernist more than a postmodernist novel, and a moral one at that. Shock horror, a story with a message! Not usually my cup of tea, but if it does indeed have a moral point, at least it’s not didactic. It beats us mercilessly into being horrified by the world rather than telling us why we should be.

So what is the moral point? What is it we should be horrified by in the real world, according to Ballard? Since he has written about the book a few times, let us refer to the man’s own words:

Throughout Crash I have used the car not only as a sexual image, but as a total metaphor for man's life in today's society. As such the novel has a political role quite apart from its sexual content, but I would still like to think that Crash is the first pornographic novel based on technology. In a sense, pornography is the most political form of fiction, dealing with how we use and exploit each other in the most urgent and ruthless way. Needless to say, the ultimate role of Crash is cautionary, a warning against that brutal, erotic and overlit realm that beckons more and more persuasively to us from the margins of the technological landscape. — J. G. Ballard’s 1995 introduction

I relate this to a point made somewhere by the philosopher John Gray, to the effect that science and technology are the only areas of human life that have seen progress, ever. We have not progressed ethically, politically, psychologically, or socially, except insofar as problems have been directly amenable to science and technology, and even that has been patchy.

Setting aside any objections to that, what it means is that we are ill-equipped to deal with the accelerating rate of technical advancement. Rather, that advancement becomes part of a web of exploitation, violence, and alienation, and in fact intensifies the dehumanization of culture and of personal relationships.

So as he says, it’s a cautionary tale. However, I do suspect that this is a post-hoc rationalization of what was at the time a more purely artistic effort. That is, his words from 1995, twenty years after he wrote the novel, amount to an interpretation, with no more or less legitimacy than the interpretations of critics and appreciative readers. I happen to think it’s a good interpretation, but I doubt it’s an explanation of what he set out to do when he wrote the novel. Probably nearer to that intention, or nearer to describing what he was doing, is his comment elsewhere that Crash was a “psychopathic hymn.” He had noticed some social tendencies and extrapolated them into psychopathy.

Anyway, back to whether I like it or not. I have to admit that although its repetitiveness is a counteracting force, the book is in fact impressively, entertainingly, even amusingly perverse. But it wears off quickly (“J. G., if you tell me about a ‘junction’ of wounds and mangled car parts one more time I’m throwing this book out the window”). Maybe that’s another strength: Ballard is not merely a mischief-maker out to shock and titillate; he’s deadly serious and he’s not going to stop when it stops being fun.

But it is in fact sometimes fun:

The elegant aluminized air-vents in the walls of the X-ray department beckoned as invitingly as the warmest organic orifice.

I doubt I’m the only one to find this funny. And Ballard was a really clever guy, so it seems odd to claim that he was not aware of this humour, which is peppered throughout the book. But the novel is so unremitting, the tone so uncompromising, the approach so single-minded, and the purpose so serious, that I do want to make that claim. I’m imagining he would look down on those who read it for the thrill of absurd perversity. I could well be wrong about that, but it’s a sign of how puzzling the book is, how unique and disturbing it is, that I’m confused about it.

I want to address one more thing. In a few places online I’ve seen reviews of Crash that radically misinterpret it. (But wait! Aren’t all interpretations valid and equally good? Valid, maybe. Equally good? No.) They think it is a sympathetic exploration of a paraphilic sexual preference, which they identify as symphorophilia. Come on people. The whole point of the book is to exaggerate things about society precisely by describing an absurd, impossible perversion. It is a crazy metaphor. If symphorophiliacs do exist, then either Ballard was not aware of them or else he was not interested in them or their condition.

I’m in my fifties. It’s sometimes hard to resist the temptation to grumble about wokeness. But I try, since doing so can be pretty stupid, the whole phenomenon being too complex for either a full embrace or a full rejection. However (and yes, I’m aware I seem to be doing an “I’m not racist but…”), there must be a point at which your well-meaning effort to be inclusive of all sexual preferences blinds you to what is in front of your face: in the case of Crash, what is in front of your face is horrifying, psychopathic perversity described as if it were normal.

unenlightened

Why did you read it?

I haven't read it, and do not intend to read it. Ballard was one of my least favourite sf writers, and one reason was a sense of misanthropy and moral nihilism that always seemed to come through his writing.

So as he says, it’s a cautionary tale. — Jamal

Is It? What are we being warned against that we are in danger of? Have you found something in society and or in your psyche that you were unaware of before? Or are we being shown the dangers of delight in cautionary tales?

what is in front of your face is horrifying, psychopathic perversity described as if it were normal. — Jamal

I find there is more than enough horror and psychopathic perversity around and within. One does well to acknowledge it, even to confess it perhaps, but one does ill to indulge it. I speak from ignorance, of course, but nothing you have said thus far has given me the least reason to think I ought to read it let alone want to. I haven't read Lolita either.

Jamal

Why did you read it? — unenlightened

Intriguement.

Maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe it traumatized me.

I haven't read it, and do not intend to read it. Ballard was one of my least favourite sf writers, and one reason was a sense of misanthropy and moral nihilism that always seemed to come through his writing. — unenlightened

I see the misanthropy, but—if this isn’t a contradiction—I don’t see the moral nihilism. I mean, he shows moral nihilism precisely because he’s morally concerned or outraged (or merely conservative (which by the way I think he was, politically)).

Is It? What are we being warned against that we are in danger of? Have you found something in society and or in your psyche that you were unaware of before? Or are we being shown the dangers of delight in cautionary tales? — unenlightened

This is what I was trying to understand. It seems to be the dehumanizing effects of technology combined with the pornification of relationships, and the psychopathic nature of the suburban landscape (“psychopathic” here meaning anti-social and dehumanizing). I think he effectively, if vaguely, drew attention to it, by exaggeration and cognitive estrangement, allowing the reader to see society anew, in a roundabout way as it really is.

I find there is more than enough horror and psychopathic perversity around and within. One does well to acknowledge it, even to confess it perhaps, but one does ill to indulge it. I speak from ignorance, of course, but nothing you have said thus far has given me the least reason to think I ought to read it let alone want to. I haven't read Lolita either. — unenlightened

I don’t think reading Crash is to indulge horror and psychopathic perversity. It’s to face up to it. At least, that’s what I’m thinking of as the “official” assessment of the book; I’m not sure about it myself. Maybe it takes a saint to really appreciate it.

And “there is enough x in the real world as it is; I don’t need to see it in art” (a fair paraphrase, I hope) seems like an argument against all works of art, no? Well, except those that distract us from the real world with alternative visions, I guess.

Anyway, I’m certainly not trying to convince people to read it. It’s not pleasant, and might not even be good for you.

Jamal

Lolita, by the way, is not in the same ballpark. It doesn’t attempt to say anything about society or make any moral point. It is a lovingly crafted self-contained exercise in playing with the reader. The subject matter is chosen largely for its significance in the mind of the reader, which he tries to distract the reader from by making Humbert likeable or admirable, or at least impressive. Nabokov was a trickster making beautifully crafted wooden boxes with hidden compartments.

But it’s because of that subject matter that I don’t like it as much his other books, which don’t have that problem. Some of them, unlike probably anything Ballard wrote, are deeply humane (I’m thinking of Pnin and Pale Fire).

unenlightened

And “there is enough x in the real world as it is; I don’t need to see it in art” (a fair paraphrase, I hope) seems like an argument against all works of art, no? Well, except those that distract us from the real world with alternative visions, I guess. — Jamal

I don't think that is a fair representation. Primo Levi records real horror; George Orwell warns against dehumanising ideology. But they don't wallow in depravity. Perhaps that is an unfair characterisation on my side, but it is the impression I get from what you are saying.
Or consider P K Dick's work; an evocation of paranoia, but always with sympathy for the paranoid subject.

It seems to be the dehumanizing effects of technology combined with the pornification of relationships, and the psychopathic nature of the suburban landscape (“psychopathic” here meaning anti-social and dehumanizing). — Jamal

All I can say here is that if one has to struggle to understand what one is being cautioned against, the cautionary aspect is not very successful. But there lies the rub: to a misanthrope, dehumanising is a good thing! But that's enough pontificating from my unassailable position of total ignorance, hopefully others who have read it will have more interesting things to say.

Jamal

But that's enough pontificating from my unassailable position of total ignorance, hopefully others who have read it will have more interesting things to say. — unenlightened

I can’t imagine better objections from someone who hasn’t read it. I’ll mull over your comments.

One thing though: wallowing is pleasurable or comfortable, and reading Crash is definitely not like that, and was very clearly not meant to be.

unenlightened

One thing though: wallowing is pleasurable or comfortable, and reading Crash is definitely not like that, and was very clearly not meant to be. — Jamal

Fair comment. Mind you, that's not to say that writing it wasn't pleasurable.

While one who sings with his tongue on fire
Gargles in the rat race choir
Bent out of shape from society’s pliers
Cares not to come up any higher
But rather get you down in the hole
That he’s in — Bob Dylan

Jamal

Fair comment. Mind you, that's not to say that writing it wasn't pleasurable — unenlightened

Also a fair comment, but I think what matters is whether it reads like Ballard was wallowing pleasurably in depravity, and I don’t think it does.

frank

↪Jamal

The novel was like a lightning rod that collected nebulous elements of your psyche and generated a jolt that you became aware of. Dreams can do that too. There's a link between art and dreams, in that both tell truths through fiction. So this novel found a home in your psyche because you needed it, or something like that.

I just recently had a striking dream about Kripke's skeptical challenge, where I had some kind of sideways vantage point on the way people create meaning. Kripke's work is intellectual. The dream was visceral.

Jamal

The novel was like a lightning rod that collected nebulous elements of your psyche and generated a jolt that you became aware of. Dreams can do that too. There's a link between art and dreams, in that both tell truths through fiction. So this novel found a home in your psyche because you needed it, or something like that. — frank

Nicely put, I like it. Yes, it was something like that for sure.

baker

in the case of Crash, what is in front of your face is horrifying, psychopathic perversity

described as if it were normal. — Jamal

Have you compared it to Bret Easton Ellis' American Psycho?

Jamal

All I can say here is that if one has to struggle to understand what one is being cautioned against, the cautionary aspect is not very successful. — unenlightened

I’m not sure about this. I mean sure, it makes a lot of sense, but I think there’s room for cautionary tales that are only vaguely cautionary, that make us uncomfortable with the world.

But I don’t actually think Crash is all that vague as a cautionary tale. In the real world, crashes are exciting and people slow down to have a look; they are in some sense titillated by it. I reckon that’s pretty obvious. So that’s one side of it. The other is the self-centred seeking of sexual gratification and what I called the pornification of relationships. And then there’s the alienation of suburbia. There might be no explicit lecture in the book but you can see what he’s doing in mixing these together with a consistent internal logic.

I’m glad you brought up misanthropy, because it’s made me think. There is something a bit nasty in Ballard, I think. I already compared him unfavourably on that dimension with Nabokov, a writer not known for his lavish compassion. Another author I can mention is Samuel Beckett. His so-called trilogy that begins with Molloy is disturbing, pessimistic, sordid and difficult. And yet you feel there’s a compassionate heart behind it, and even, maybe, a playful sort of love of life. So, far from feeling nasty, it’s a pleasure to read.

That’s a bunch of vague musings.

Jamal

Have you compared it to Bret Easton Ellis' American Psycho? — baker

I read that years ago and yes, I can see the connection, though I hadn’t thought about it until you mentioned it. American Psycho didn’t hit me so hard though, not sure why.

universeness

↪Jamal

↪unenlightened

When you muse on notions such as human depravity as depicted by human authors in dystopian novels? Do you ever get flashes in your mind of scenes from David Attenborough or other nature series you may have watched in the past? Scenes from two, always come to me, 'Animal Cannibal,' and 'Disappearing River.' I wonder if such novels disturb many of us, because they remind us of the 'depraved' ways our ancestors had to be to survive, under jungle rules.
Instinct/survival imperative versus the human goal of 'civilised behavior.'
Many humans have chosen depravity as a way to win 'jungle-style' competition.
Is that what really disturbs any human mind that considers itself civilised?
If you want to restrict this thread, to discussion on the works of Ballard and similar works @Jamal, then I will post no more on this particular 'branch off.'

Jamal

If you want to restrict this thread, to discussion on the works of Ballard and similar works Jamal, then I will post no more on this particular 'branch off.' — universeness

Well, what you’ve said is a pretty interesting side-issue so don’t worry. I may respond later, after I’ve done some thinking.

universeness

↪Jamal

:up:

Moliere

Were you aware that Cronenberg made a film adaptation of the book? I wasn't aware that it even was a book, but I knew of the movie because I like Cronenberg (though I didn't see it, so I can't say how that particular movie is. Some Cronenberg crosses the line for me, and some doesn't)

On the topic of unenjoyable art, though: Salo fits for me. I had no idea what I was in for watching that film because it was just a friend who invited me over to watch another Criterion collection he got in the mail through a subscription service. We'd watch pretty much watch anything on the Criterion collection list, and I had no warning going in what the movie was about other than the title, and knowing who Passolini is from other nights like this.

It's so horrible that I recommend people not watch it. But the wiki gives the idea:

In the film, almost no background is given on the tortured subjects and, for the most part, they almost never speak.[16] Pasolini's depiction of the victims in such a manner was intended to demonstrate the physical body "as a commodity... the annulment of the personality of the Other."[17] Specifically, Pasolini intended to depict what he described as an "anarchy of power",[18] in which sex acts and physical abuse functioned as metaphor for the relationship between power and its subjects.[19] Aside from this theme, Pasolini also described the film as being about the "nonexistence of history" as it is seen from Western culture and Marxism.[20]

I kind of hated the film, but as the affect of it wore off I had to admit that it did the thing a movie has to do: not be boring. It wasn't in an enjoyable way, though.

This is just what came to mind because of your description of your experience of Crash kind of mirrors my experience of Salo. I'm wondering if there are other forms of unenjoyable art than these sort of grotesque depictions. There's something to be said for challenging work which goes over dark themes -- it's not exactly fun, but part of what makes art art is that it's in some sense appealing.

I'd put forward Eraserhead as a possible contender there. Just enough art to give it something more than just the subject matter as is, definitely moody and kind of insane, but it doesn't rely upon open depictions of depravity to do it (though it has its share of strange and grotesque imagery, too)

Jamal

Were you aware that Cronenberg made a film adaptation of the book? I wasn't aware that it even was a book, but I knew of the movie because I like Cronenberg (though I didn't see it, so I can't say how that particular movie is. Some Cronenberg crosses the line for me, and some doesn't) — Moliere

Yes, I saw the film first, many years ago. I though it was great. Somehow less disturbing than the book, although looking back now I can see it was an excellent adaptation. The cold, clinical detachment is spot-on.

I know of Salo, but I haven’t seen it, and I know enough about it to avoid it. That said, it sounds similar to Crash in that it’s supposed to have a political or social message. It’s anti-fascist, they say.

I'm wondering if there are other forms of unenjoyable art than these sort of grotesque depictions. There's something to be said for challenging work which goes over dark themes -- it's not exactly fun, but part of what makes art art is that it's in some sense appealing.

I'd put forward Eraserhead as a possible contender there. — Moliere

There are many works that deal with dark stuff which I would say are enjoyable. I don’t mean fun, exactly, but I think “enjoyable” can stretch to cover compelling, fascinating, terrifying, heartbreaking , etc.

I wouldn’t personally put Eraserhead in the class of works that are unenjoyable but also good art, for the simple reason that I find it enjoyable.

So I’m still having trouble thinking of anything else to put in that class alongside Crash.

I’ve just thought of one: Kubrick’s The Shining. Every time I watch it I wish I hadn’t, because it’s such a dark vision of never-ending abusive violence, cold and uncompromising and more disturbing than most horror movies, at least to me (even though they escape in the end). On the other hand, it definitely is entertaining so maybe it’s enjoyable after all. Yeah, not sure.

Moliere

I wouldn’t personally put Eraserhead in the class of works that are unenjoyable but also good art, for the simple reason that I find it enjoyable. — Jamal

That's a good point. From my perspective I love it -- I just know I've tried showing it to people and have learned that it's a movie that doesn't appeal very widely. It's too weird for some.

Kubrick’s The Shining. Every time I watch it I wish I hadn’t, because it’s such a dark vision of never-ending abusive violence, cold and uncompromising and more disturbing than most horror movies, at least to me (even though they escape in the end). On the other hand, it definitely is entertaining so maybe it’s enjoyable after all. Yeah, not sure. — Jamal

That's a good choice I think. There's entertainment in the movie, but that aspect of it sort of ruins it. I loved The Shining when I first saw it as a horror movie that actually evoked fear in me. But when you start to put together how accurate the portrayal is, and how domestic violence continues on, it really takes out the enjoyment aspect.

Jamal

I loved The Shining when I first saw it as a horror movie that actually evoked fear in me. But when you start to put together how accurate the portrayal is, and how domestic violence continues on, it really takes out the enjoyment aspect. — Moliere

That’s exactly what happened with me. As I got older the domestic violence really began to stand out, whereas before it was all about the mystery of the haunted hotel.

Jamal

↪Moliere

I just thought of a better way of putting things, which bypasses the confusions around what counts as enjoyable (or entertaining): what I’m talking about is the experience of a book or film etc. that would lead you to say, just after you’ve finished it, that it was a good experience. Many dark, harrowing and sad works would fit.

But Crash was not a good experience, and Salo was not a good experience for you. And yet later on, in my case Crash showed its power by making me think about stuff.

Manuel

↪Jamal

What's interesting to me is that it's not too frequent - in my experience. That something one has read which one find boring, ends up having much impact. It can happen, and when it does, it's just so very strange.

Not in line with the theme's suggested by Crash but, there's something about very, very dark books that, leave a strong imprint in the mind. I don't know quite what it is - I wouldn't want to reduce it to the usual comments about drama or violence at a distance gives us pleasure because we aren't involved in it. There's such a massive mismatch between living a dramatic event - which are just awful, as opposed to seeing it from a distance in other people, other families. Then it's interesting or even fun. And it's strange.

I suppose I have in mind Kirino's Grotesque, utterly haunting, depressing, not a single like-able character, yet, wow, that thing won't leave my mind. The way hatred can be "gotten" or understood from an intuitive perspective, is kind of surreal.

Sorry if it's not replying to your OP, but, it got me thinking about certain platitudes that sometimes are mystifying. Oh well.

Mikie

Were you aware that Cronenberg made a film adaptation of the book? I wasn't aware that it even was a book — Moliere

I’ll jump in here just to take it a step further: I didn’t even know who JG Ballard was, and had to Wikipedia him. There, I said it.

But I’ve enjoyed this thread nonetheless. Challenges some beliefs I’ve had for probably too long about “art” and “entertainment.” I confess it’s something like the gourmet meal vs. McDonalds view that @Jamal mentions (I’m paraphrasing), so it’s worth re-examining.

I’m struggling to come up with any example whatever of something I’ve watched or read that I found utterly boring that also stuck with me in some way. I feel that’s almost contradictory. Maybe certain parts of a book or a film that is otherwise a bore will stay with me, or get me to question things, etc— but I’d say those are just that: interesting parts of a generally boring work.

:chin:

L'éléphant

I didn't read the book, but the OP is fulfilling to read. Again, what an insight!

Yes, it is quite amazingly tedious and repetitive. Yes, it is cold, joyless and repugnant. But it turns out these are the things that make it so memorable and, at least in retrospect, stimulating. — Jamal

I get this. When I'm repulsed at something, it lingers in my mind like.. not as a tumor (a nice metaphor)...but like a grime that needs to be cleansed. I choose what I read now. And it's mostly non-fiction.

So as he says, it’s a cautionary tale. However, I do suspect that this is a post-hoc rationalization of what was at the time a more purely artistic effort. That is, his words from 1995, twenty years after he wrote the novel, amount to an interpretation, with no more or less legitimacy than the interpretations of critics and appreciative readers. — Jamal

If I had read the book, I would use the word "misrepresentation". Probably. Maybe now he wants to be legit, so now he calls it a cautionary tale.

Jamal

What's interesting to me is that it's not too frequent - in my experience. That something one has read which one find boring, ends up having much impact. It can happen, and when it does, it's just so very strange. — Manuel

I’m struggling to come up with any example whatever of something I’ve watched or read that I found utterly boring that also stuck with me in some way. I feel that’s almost contradictory. Maybe certain parts of a book or a film that is otherwise a bore will stay with me, or get me to question things, etc— but I’d say those are just that: interesting parts of a generally boring work. — Mikie

That’s the puzzle.

One possibility that occurred to me is just that because I don’t usually read transgressive fiction, Crash shocked me so much that I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind. If that’s what has happened, maybe it means that anything equally shocking would have had the same effect, even gratuitous trash.

But I don’t think so. It’s the way that Crash was shocking that had the effect, a way that distinguishes it as more than gratuitous trash.

I watched Castle Freak a few months ago [EDIT: the 1995 version]. Like the more famous Re-Animator, it’s a Lovecraftian B movie horror film directed by Stuart Gordon and starring Jeffrey Combs. I thought it was well-made and very enjoyable (a very underrated horror, I reckon), but there’s one particular totally gratuitous and distgustingly violent scene that I was not prepared for, and it’s stuck in my mind in the way @L'éléphant describes:

When I'm repulsed at something, it lingers in my mind […] like a grime that needs to be cleansed — L'éléphant

(Nice metaphor)

The thing is, Crash doesn’t feel like that. Its effect feels deeper, more intellectual and more unsettling.

I’ll jump in here just to take it a step further: I didn’t even know who JG Ballard was, and had to Wikipedia him. There, I said it. — Mikie

I’m not trying to shame you for your ignorance but it’s worth pointing out that at least three of his books have been adapted into films, one by Steven Spielberg, and that the word Ballardian has made it into a few dictionaries.

But I’ve enjoyed this thread nonetheless. Challenges some beliefs I’ve had for probably too long about “art” and “entertainment.” I confess it’s something like the gourmet meal vs. McDonalds view that Jamal mentions (I’m paraphrasing), so it’s worth re-examining. — Mikie

But notice that my metaphor (which I disagreed with) was pizza vs. turnip soup. The latter is good for you, but hardly a gourmet meal. I may say more about that later.

I didn't read the book, but the OP is fulfilling to read. Again, what an insight! — L'éléphant

Thank you.

If I had read the book, I would use the word "misrepresentation". Probably. Maybe now he wants to be legit, so now he calls it a cautionary tale. — L'éléphant

I think that’s a bit unfair. As I said, I think his interpretation was a good one, and he had been legit already for a long time, a doyen of English literature, so he had nothing to prove.

Jamal

When you muse on notions such as human depravity as depicted by human authors in dystopian novels? Do you ever get flashes in your mind of scenes from David Attenborough or other nature series you may have watched in the past? — universeness

Not really, but decades later I do still clearly remember a scene from one of those documentaries of a wildebeest being eaten alive by a pack of hyenas, starting from the back legs and arse and progressing along the body.

I wonder if such novels disturb many of us, because they remind us of the 'depraved' ways our ancestors had to be to survive, under jungle rules.
Instinct/survival imperative versus the human goal of 'civilised behavior.'
Many humans have chosen depravity as a way to win 'jungle-style' competition.
Is that what really disturbs any human mind that considers itself civilised? — universeness

Depravity under jungle rules is nothing compared to the depravity of American slavery and the Nazi death camps, so no to that. On the other hand, there is a special—and also fascinating and stimulating—horror for me in folk horror films like the Wicker Man, and religious horror like the Exorcist. When I first watched the Wicker Man I didn’t know anything about it, and I sympathised with the pagan islanders whose behaviour was so shocking to Edward Woodward’s austere Wee Free Christian fundamentalist—until their barbarity became apparent. So there’s something to be said for your idea: what is disturbing in these films is, maybe, the idea of ancient unalloyed evil that hasn’t gone away.

universeness

Depravity under jungle rules is nothing compared to the depravity of American slavery and the Nazi death camps, so no to that. On the other hand, there is a special—and also fascinating and stimulating—horror for me in folk horror films like the Wicker Man, and religious horror like the Exorcist. When I first watched the Wicker Man I didn’t know anything about it, and I sympathised with the pagan islanders whose behaviour was so shocking to Edward Woodward’s austere Wee Free Christian fundamentalist—until their barbarity became apparent. So there’s something to be said for your idea: what is disturbing in these films is, maybe, the idea of ancient unalloyed evil that hasn’t gone away. — Jamal

This is a very interesting paragraph to me, for many reasons.
I see so many comparables between the actions of animals in the wild and the actions of human slavers or nazis. The animals have the excuse?? at least, from our moral point of view, that they don't communicate a need for, or a goal of, a standard of moral behavior, that could be comparable, with what humans might label 'civilised,' and when humans don't meet such a perceived standard as 'civilised,' then they are often labeled, 'animals!' which I always recall, when I hear someone exclaim, with deep feelings of empathy and appreciation of natures diversity, how much they love animals. It's an interesting juxtaposition.

Two examples often come to my recall when I think of the kind of depraved torture/terror employed by human slavers or nazis, from the angle of human inhumanity towards other humans.

A group of chimpanzee, very short on resources, very hungry. One of the females suddenly grabs the young of another and throws it from a high tree, to its death. The screams from all involved were very loud indeed. Many of the group then descend to the corpse, and to my utter shock, start to tear it apart and consume it. Its mother runs after those with a bit of its dead offspring, switching its focus from one to the other. Eventually, the mother sits by herself in despair, with a pallor that I can only compare with a tortured human or resident of a nazi death camp. Incredibly, one of the chimps that was just eating a portion of her young, comes over to the mother and puts its arm around her, in an almost apologetic embrace. :scream:

I will spare you my second example for now, unless you see any value in such a second example.

I remember watching all three films in the 'hostel' series. Have you watched them? I found them quite stomach-churning, even though, horror movies tend not to bother me much, as I tend to always envisage the camera people having their lunch and socialising with each other, in between takes, and the director calling for more butcher meat and fake blood.

The human horror and terror depicted in the Hostel films, again reminded me of scenes I had watched from nature series.

Animals certainly do experience fear.
In your opinion, does a novel like Crash, disturb you more, when you imagine yourself as a victim or as a perpetrator of such acts?

Is the notion of total terror, merely part of the survival instinct of fight or flight, which evolved naturally, or do you feel that there is more involved?

I ask these questions, as I believe such ruminations in the human mind, (perhaps best exemplified in Frued's notion of 'id',) is imo, where human notions and creations of 'hell' originate.

Another question I would like to ask you is, do such novels as 'crash,' make you crave more, for a society where the chances of such depicted human behavior happening to you, or because of you, is reduced to as near zero as we can make it?
It sounds like a very simple question, to which the answer 'yes, of course it does,' would seem expected. But, my problem with such a seemingly rational, obvious answer, is that it leaves me wondering why our species seems currently, so f***** up?

Jamal

↪universeness

I’ll respond to a couple of things and might come back to the rest later.

In your opinion, does a novel like Crash, disturb you more, when you imagine yourself as a victim or as a perpetrator of such acts? — universeness

As a reader of Crash you’re a voyeur at most. It’s not involving and the characters are not relatable. So the idea of putting yourself in their shoes doesn’t occur to you. This was by design. And anyway, a lot of the most shocking stuff in the book is consensual, so it’s not so much about perpetrators and victims, but more about people using each other.

Really you’re asking a more general question unrelated to the book: if I’m more disturbed by the idea of being a perpetrator of (fictional or otherwise) violence, or the victim. I suppose I’d have to say the perpetrator. Being the victim is just something horrific you’d want to avoid, but the thought of being the perpetrator makes me wonder if there are circumstances that could actually make me do it, which is more unsettling.

Another question I would like to ask you is, do such novels as 'crash,' make you crave more, for a society where the chances of such depicted human behavior happening to you, or because of you, is reduced to as near zero as we can make it? — universeness

I should point out that what is depicted in the book does not happen in real life. It’s metaphorical. But I get your point. As it happens, the novel did make me explore critical theory with questions in mind such as “how did things go wrong?”

Jamal

I remember watching all three films in the 'hostel' series. Have you watched them? I found them quite stomach-churning — universeness

No, I would not watch something like that. I am a total wuss when it comes to horror, although oddly enough I do like a lot of horror films, up to a point.

universeness

Really you’re asking a more general question unrelated to the book: if I’m more disturbed by the idea of being a perpetrator of (fictional or otherwise) violence, or the victim. I suppose I’d have to say the perpetrator. Being the victim is just something horrific you’d want to avoid, but being the perpetrator makes you wonder if there are circumstances that could make me do it, which is more unsettling. — Jamal

I agree, considering myself as a perpetrator of terror, disturbs me more than being a victim, but yet I do experience feelings of hatred. Would I choose to torture a nazi like Hitler? or criminal that raped and murdered a loved one, etc? I suppose none of us really know until we are faced with such. I would like to think I would just shoot them in the head, mere execution, rather than prolonged torture.
I always put myself in the shoes of the characters depicted, in anything I watch or read. I have done so since I was a child. When I first saw the exorcist, I wondered if I could be so easily overwhelmed by the demonic invader depicted. It always annoyed me, that Regan, was unable to reject the possession herself. I did consider myself naively indestructible at 18. :yikes:
I am not a fan of Jordan Peterson but I did find some common ground with him, when he challenged his own sense of morality in trying to perceive himself, as a nazi guard in a death camp, who enjoyed his work, or at least had found ways to justify such horrific compliance with the tasks assigned.

A scene that I found very disturbing was Doctor Lecter in Hannibal. A scene between Lecter (Anthony Hopkins) and the late Ray Liotta (who was manipulated, to eat a small part of his own brain, at a dinner table). I found it so disturbing, due to the depiction of the high intelligence of Lecter, revealed as no defense against acting like a depraved madman.

I should point out that what is depicted in the book does not happen in real life. — Jamal

I am sure you agree, real life events are often worse, than the horrors depicted in fiction. I think, sadly, fictional horror, often informs the sick human mind or the nefarious human mind on new ways to inflict terror/impose complete control over others.

No, I would not watch something like that. — Jamal

Yeah, well, imo, you are definitely not missing out on anything by making that choice.

Manuel

That’s the puzzle.

One possibility that occurred to me is just that because I don’t usually read transgressive fiction, Crash shocked me so much that I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind. If that’s what has happened, maybe it means that anything equally shocking would have had the same effect, even gratuitous trash.

But I don’t think so. It’s the way that Crash was shocking that had the effect, a way that distinguishes it as more than gratuitous trash. — Jamal

Then I'd suggest that you weren't actually bored, maybe you were reading it in a disinterested manner. But boredom to me, carries negative connotations that if allowed to continue for too long, is quite exhausting and frustrating.

Unless it's a short book (120 pages or less, for example), then it's doable. But 200 or more pages? That's tough.

Unenjoyable art: J. G. Ballard’s Crash

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