Interlude: My Mistake

I've been burning through a lot of other media right now so reading has taken a bit of a back seat to what I normally do with my evenings and train commutes.

In the time which I've been away (nearly 3 weeks from my previous posting on The Ceremonies) I've finished that, another book, started a few more and have finally settle on one only to find it's a bit unwieldy to attempt to negotiate a 500+ page hardcover book with thick paper stock on the subway.

Yesterday I found myself faced with the unfortunate news that JG Ballard had finally succumbed to cancer. He was one of those literary figures who I had circled in periphery but never really took the time to examine as there was only one time I was struck with the investigative impulse which generally drives these brief reading manias.

The book I read was Crash, more because it was what the bookstore had in stock rather than any conscious decision. I'd have rather The Atrocity Exhibition or some other short story collection, but alas. Having grown up in a car culture like the suburban united states, and having traveled enough highway miles to see grisly accidents, the book's perverse love affair at the intersection of human and automobile did affect me, but not in any sort of "why do we accept these machines" way, rather in a "if this is the price for the benefit, it is worth it."

Of course now that I live in an area where many of the residents DON'T own cars, I may read the book five years from now and take away something completely different from the same text. This is the joy of re-reading.