@GirlontheProwl here. During my third year at university, I had a professor who turned me on to the likes of Mr. JG Ballard. I’d never heard of him before and I didn’t have much in the way of expectations for him. He was just some old dead guy who wrote books that couldn’t possibly be relevant to me…right? Wrong. I couldn’t have been more wrong. While Ballard is an acquired taste, and some may even find him a difficult read, this man had a talent for creating some—pardon my French—fucked up shit. And it isn’t without some thought that I turn him onto you. So to start you off, here’s Ballard’s High Rise.

Reading High Rise was the equivalent of watching a train wreck and I can assure you that I hated every moment of it. I hated it so much I flipped through those pages like a kid hopped up on Cracker Jacks. You must feel confused by the description of my relationship with this book so I’m going to be straight with you, I use the word hate very loosely in context with this novel—as they say, there is a thin line between love and hate.

High Rise explores the realm of creating an environment so unique it becomes hostile. The book delves into man’s more primitive nature in a modern day setting. It takes on the grotesque and molds it into what can only be described as one of our worst nightmares. It plays with the idea of greed and selfishness, and it becomes so devoid of emotion that it makes you question human nature.

The story takes place in a high rise. Of course this high rise isn’t like any other, it’s what some would call the crème de la crème of high rises. It has it’s own tennis court, it’s own stores, and it’s just about everything short of the real world. But who needs that when you could live your entire life right from the inside of this vertical palace?

Unfortunately this little piece of heaven, becomes nothing but the equivalent of your own personal hell. Plagued by paranoia, it would seem that this High Rise has an intent of it’s own. As Paradise becomes afflicted by what could only be described as a primitive act to acquire ownership, the oppressive hierarchal system created by the high rise only transcends the hatred expressed throughout this book.

So, if I haven’t convinced you yet, read the book just because you can, I promise, there is method to Ballard’s madness—and who knows, maybe you’ll find it as genius as I did.

Cheers,