The Death of JG Ballard Imagined as a Long Sad Sigh Over a Cup of Coffee

[strange_powers]

I heard this morning of the death of JG Ballard - one of my absolute favourite writers. From those slightly pulpy but always fiercely thought out early novels (The Wind From Nowhere and The Drought are my favourites), the phenomenal bank of short stories (Memories of the Space Age, describing a long abandoned Cape Kennedy is haunting and

Comments

[huskyteer]

You beat me to writing about him - I'm having trouble finding adequate words. RIP.

[anonymous]

With or without it.

I love you!

[anonymous]

I'm yours, honey~

[nja]

Oddly enough, as I was driving home last night unaware that he had died, I thought about what would happen if I crashed into one of the areas of no-man's-land around a motorway junction, a la Concrete Island. I think that's the mark of a very great writer - you unconsciously absorb their worldview and look at the world through their eyes as well as your own from then on.

I read tons of SF in my teens, and even at a young age I could tell that Ballard was head and shoulders above the others (P K Dick possibly excepted). Vermilion Sands was another favourite, the earliest exploration of the bleakness of the Mediterranian/Californian "paradise", more surreal and lighthearted than Super-Cannes or Cocaine Nights.

[nja]

You may appeared as a geek as space cadet, but you've got amazing grace, as you made a big confession.

[strange_powers]

Wow, these are weird, aren't they? Time to disable anonymous comments, I feel.

[class_worrier]

I think Ballard would approve of these robospam stalkers.

[anonymous]

Kiss me!