I did not like Crash. If the purpose of this book was to make me extremely uncomfortable, and bored, and confused about the plot, then it gets an A+.Is this really a thing? Sexual fetishes about car crashes? I suppose there must be people out there. Now, as I look at J.G. Ballard's picture on the back of this book (who looks like your neighbor accountant), I am now fearful of what is running in the minds of all those seemingly innocent-looking, plump older men.
Crash is like being inside the mind of a sexual deviant, with no escape, no breath of fresh air. It's not even fun, like a porno. It's like he is hitting you on the top of head with a brick and crashing cymbals on the side of your head at the same time. There isn't any tenderness of romance of sex for even a bit, it's brutish and dominating sex.
Can these characters go get a cup of coffee and chat about the weather for a minute? If I was in a room with any of these characters I would run away screaming and probably take a shower ten times. Character who walks around with semen covered jeans all the time? No thank you Ballard. No redeeming qualities or likeability about anyone in this book.
As I mentioned previously, if this was the point, then ok, but how does it make Crash readable? Transgressive fiction, Crash is, but how? How do you get past all of the sex and examine the relationships between the characters? It's practically impossible.
Even with the near-constant orgies, I was bored. Not much of a plot.