
The beauty of a novel is it can transport you inside someone else’s mind. Even the dreariest hack has to be on nodding terms with human psychology in order to pump out a half-decent airport novel. Few novelists, though, worship at psychology’s altar with the vehemence of J. G. Ballard. And few others can, in my view, match Ballard for his uniquely exhilarating and often equally disturbing results. Frequently referred to as the ‘Seer of Shepperton’ Ballard is a keen observer of all that makes us human, using his novels almost as laboratories in which he can pose questions about humanity.







