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2 internautes sur 2 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile :
5.0étoiles sur 5
Thy Kingdom Come, Thy Ads Be Run?, Janv. 5 2007
At 75 years of age you might think the irascible JG Ballard might be bored with finger-pointing and setting up future ?I told you so? scenarios from the sedate safety of his Shepperton semi-detached.
But no.
With the publication of his latest novel, Kingdom Come, Ballard once again is "picturing the psychology of the future", this time moving his critical eye beyond the culture of business parks and gated communities and into the English suburbs with its landscape of sports arenas, massive shopping centers? and violence.
Following closely in the stylistic footprints of his prior three novels -- Cocaine Nights, Super-Cannes and Millennium People -- Ballard continues his longtime role of Psychological Town Crier, this time pealing out warnings about the possibility of a fascist republic growing from the bored suburb?s fascination with sports, nationalism and consumerism.
In Kingdom Come the hero is a massive shopping centre; the plotline an advertising slogan. Off to the side, one group of professionals work together in an attempt to create a fledgling fascist state so the authorities will arrive, stamp out the insurrection, tear down the shopping malls, then leave so the original residents can once again enjoy an old-fashioned, bucolic middle-class rural existence. On the other hand, another group seeks to increase shopping centre sales by initiating a ?subversive? advertising campaign to change the ?mental ecology? of Brooklands. And then there are the gun toting crazies who initiate and finalize this surreal re-enactment of The Teddy Bear?s Picnic.
Kingdom come uses the first person point of view ? all the better to ?reveal? the story, although the linear effect is sometimes slow, especially if the narrator likes to go off in tangents -- and it rests its case in the form of a mystery, although the quest for whodunit in Kingdom Come soon takes a back seat to the slightly comic landscape of philosophy, violence and psychopathology which quickly engulfs the characters and the reader.
In this novel Ballard describes the action through the eyes of one Richard Pearson, a recently-redundant advertising agency account executive who leaves his London flat (after his wife has castrated him professionally before kissing him off personally) to venture out into the suburbs to a town called Brooklands, off the M25 freeway, to finalize the estate of his recently-murdered father.
Dazed and confused in this odd land of suburbia, Pearson stands out like a slogan without a brand, and he quickly falls into a scenario in which he creates a series of noir print and TV ads to shore up the prospects of the Metro-Centre mega-mall. Does the campaign work? Of course, and only too well. As Pearson notes, his advertisements build on each other in such a way that, "Together they made sense at the deepest levels, scenes from the collective dream forever playing in the back alleys of their mind." The population goes literally crazy, the cash registers ring, Metro-Centre becomes more like a self-contained church, and all is outwardly well in Happy Valley. By day. By night Brooklands reflects the dark side of Pearson's relentless campaign. The basic instincts rule the streets and sports stadiums; the individual becomes a corporate thug.
So much for English culture. But this pessimistic view is, of course, the basis for the novel in the first place. In a mad, mad, ad world, you get what you deserve. All campaigns end, however, and Ballard treats us to an amazing set-piece of violence and destruction at the end.
Without a doubt, Pearson the adman is an interesting addition to the stable of unstable Ballardian characters. By being "artistic" with his pathologies, Pearson manages to transform himself from an emotionally-damaged half-man into a complete, and wiser, individual. Ultimately, Pearson himself is the real advertisement for life against death. If the Metro-Centre campaign is an externalized version of Pearson's inner psychological state, then his recovery comes with its ultimate destruction. Once again Ballard?s longstanding theme of personal redemption and affirmation is confirmed. Through Pearson, Ballard successfully creates his own advertisement for salvation. Buying stuff is boring. It's just voting for one corporation's stuff over another. But the artistic is always engaging, even if it's just an ad campaign.
Bottom line, I found Kingdom Come to be equally as entertaining as the last three novels, each of which has fired a dystopian volley across our cultural bows. I disagree with reviewers who write that Ballard?s recent novels are repetitive rants with different plots, as I find these novels, and Kingdom Come in particular, hold the reader's interest not only for their dire warnings, but for their imaginative plotting, their deep understanding of violence, their fascination with inversions, especially of social status, and ultimate redemptive qualities. You want more? OK, it's also black humour, at its best.
Is Kingdom Come "Ballardian"? The dictionary says I should be looking for "dystopian modernity, bleak man-made landscapes and the psychological effects of technological, social or environmental developments". Well, I see that, all right. Whew. But aside from its complex, linear plot (an offshoot of the first person POV), familiar characters and feelgood ending, Kingdom Come still has time to offer up one of the most fascinating ad campaigns ever launched in fiction, a superb set-piece of the Metro-Centre rotting away while being occupied, some incredibly astute insights into the psychology of consumerism, and an ever-sharp sense of irony and humour that may cause the uncareful to laugh out loud while reading. Here's a typical example: Ballard has a character describe Pearson as, "sane, kindly, with all the genuine sincerity of an advertising man." Wish I had said that. I highly recommend it.
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