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Consumerism’s Endgame: Violence and
Community in J.G. Ballard’s Late Fiction
Graham Matthews
Newcastle University, UK
J.G. Ballard’s final four novels constitute a discrete phase of the novelist’s career, reveal-
ing a writer preoccupied with the relation of violence to community. In each novel, Bal-
lard’s narrator is initially repulsed yet later seduced by the allure of violence. Cocaine
Nights (1996) and Super-Cannes (2000) suggest that, rather than silencing and isolat-
ing individuals, the spectacle of violence unites and revives communities. Millennium
People (2003) and Kingdom Come (2006) develop the representation of violence and
community into a critique of consumer society. Ballard’s late fiction indicates that the
infantilizing illusions promoted by consumerism will result in boredom punctured only
by outbreaks of violence. Consequently, analysis of these novels in relation to violence
reveals the ways in which Ballard envisions the end state of consumerism to consist of a
perpetual cycle of sedation and psychopathy.
Introduction
J.
G. Ballard is renowned for a lifetime’s work investigating the extremes
of subjectivity in a series of novels influenced by psychoanalysis, experi-
mental literature, and surrealist art. His fiction refuses easy categorization
and incorporates elements from a variety of genres including science fiction and
the detective novel. In The Angle Between Two Walls, Roger Luckhurst identi-
fies the series of generic slippages to be found within Ballard’s fiction: “Ballard
renders visible the space between frames, exposes the hidden assumptions behind
the secure categorizations of literature and literary judgment. These, operating
dualistically (science fiction/mainstream, popular/serious, low/high, modernist/
postmodernist, literature/theory, autobiography/fiction, and so on), all tend to find
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Violence and Community in Ballard’s Late Fiction 123
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124 Journal of Modern Literature Volume 36, Number 2
Ballard’s fiction not only resists traditional generic conventions but also elides
precise moral certitudes. Instead, his treatment of violence acknowledges not only
its horrific consequences but also its seductive appeal. Although violence is con-
ventionally represented as a negative force that isolates and alienates individuals,
Ballard’s late fiction suggests that the spectacle of violence in fact plays a vital
role in producing communities and maintaining social cohesion. This theme is
foreshadowed in The Atrocity Exhibition, in which Ballard, in an imitation of a
scientific paper, states that by intercutting endless-loop newsreels of the Vietnam
War with atrocity films it was found that, “an optimum environment was created
in which work-tasks, social relationships and overall motivation reached sustained
levels of excellence” (148). The appropriation of scientific discourse and various
levels of irony employed within the text conceal whether this counter-intuitive
notion should be taken with serious intent. However, in the late fiction, Ballard
steps away from the overt surrealism of The Atrocity Exhibition and instead depicts
communities in which this thesis is played out to its logical conclusion in a manner
reminiscent of the naturalist literary tradition.
Literary naturalism replicates the conditions of the social experiment in
literary form. By depicting a believable microcosm of everyday reality, natural-
ism explores the influence of the environment on the individual. Ballard adopted
this approach in High-Rise, which depicts a community living in a tower block.
Whereas in the late fiction the semblance of a rational, ordered society is main-
tained, in High-Rise a spontaneous outbreak of violence spreads like an infection
and leads to the separation of families, the destruction of civilized norms, and
aggressive, self-serving behavior. As such, the novel depicts violence in a conven-
tional light as a force that threatens and fragments communities. By contrast, Bal-
lard’s late fiction combines the theories contained in The Atrocity Exhibition with
the form of the social experiment conducted in High-Rise in order to offer a more
challenging representation of violence as a force that binds communities together.
Previous approaches to Ballard’s fiction have, to date, failed to acknowl-
edge the seemingly contradictory approaches to violence taken by Ballard. Roger
Luckhurst’s otherwise comprehensive study of Ballard’s fiction, published in
1997, extends only so far as Rushing to Paradise (1994); accordingly he is unable
to comment on the direction the late fiction will come to take. At the same time,
Andrzej Gasiorek’s book-length study focuses mainly on Ballard’s depiction of
psychopathy and argues that the violence depicted in the novels is symptomatic
of the waning of the affect endemic to contemporary culture.
More recently, Philip Tew considers Ballard’s final three novels in relation
to the theme of sacrifice. Drawing on the work of René Girard, he argues that
Ballard’s novels from Super-Cannes to Kingdom Come (due to its pre-millennial
publication date, Cocaine Nights is somewhat arbitrarily excluded from the dis-
cussion) animate “sacrificial energies” so as to acknowledge “that dark, ‘nega-
tive,’ depressing ideas can exert an irresistible seductive power over us” (119).
However, as Tew acknowledges, the exact nature of these ideas frequently
remains opaque.
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Violence and Community in Ballard’s Late Fiction 125
Utopian Violence
The first two novels under consideration depict violence as the obscene underside
of otherwise rational and deterministic communities. Both Cocaine Nights and
Super-Cannes depict near-future utopias situated in the Mediterranean that are
shadowed by crime, violence, and perversion. Light is used as a recurrent image
throughout in order to demarcate the contested boundaries between rationality
and criminality. Indeed, the repeated references to the bright Mediterranean
sunlight are frequently contrasted with the long shadows it casts. In an echo of
Goya’s The Sleep of Reason Brings Monsters (1797–99), light in Ballard’s late work
symbolizes the Enlightenment values of truth and reason that paradoxically
generate the conditions necessary for criminality and violence.
Indeed, the Estrella de Mar of Cocaine Nights is depicted as a place of unlim-
ited leisure in a world without work, a place with “a billion balconies facing the
sun” (180). At the start of the novel, it appears as if sunlight and its associated
attributes draws together the community. However, as the novel progresses, the
town is revealed to be the site of a host of criminal activity ranging from drug-
abuse and the production of snuff films to a series of brutal murders.
In an inversion of the depiction of leisure without labor in Cocaine Nights, the
Eden-Olympia business park in Super-Cannes is a rationalist hub of productivity
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126 Journal of Modern Literature Volume 36, Number 2
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Violence and Community in Ballard’s Late Fiction 127
to awaken the population from its otherwise complacent slumber and foster a
community spirit. Crawford claims that “crime and creativity go together, and
always have done. The greater the sense of crime, the greater the civic awareness
and richer the civilization. Nothing else binds a community together” (CN 281).
Indeed, Crawford’s proposition suggests that violence, or the threat of violence,
generates a sense of vulnerability in the population that causes it to seek solidarity
with others and express itself creatively through arts, sports, and culture. Conse-
quently, Ballard’s fiction appears to demonstrate not only Anderson’s argument
that communities are formed through shared assumptions and cultural ideals, but
also indicates that they are maintained by imagined threats. In other words, the
sense of self or belonging in a community is formed only in relation to an Other,
either real or imagined.
Cocaine Nights thus provides insight into the seductive allure of violence
and, in a manner reminiscent of Walter Benjamin’s stance in his seminal essay
“Critique of Violence” published in 1921, indicates that it plays a significant role
in generating and sustaining communities. Benjamin characterizes violence in
three distinct ways. Firstly, violence is “law-making” insofar as law and the con-
ditions for peace emerge out of sustained acts of violence between two or more
opposing factions. Law-making violence brings together otherwise irreconcilable
parties through a distortion that renders the weak equal to the strong. Law can be
understood to be a system of representation that conceals the violence inherent to
the formation of communities. The second form of violence Benjamin identifies
is “law-preserving” violence. This refers to the socially embedded administrative
or policing violence required to sustain peace. The final concept Benjamin intro-
duces is that of “divine violence,” which lies outside the law, evades conventional
representative strategies, and facilitates the conditions for revolution.
In my consideration of Cocaine Nights, the second form, “law-preserving”
violence, is of primary concern. Law-preserving violence simultaneously sustains
and erodes the law by acting outside of it. Although regulatory mechanisms such
as the police, the military, and the justice system work to preserve the rule of law
and sustain the status quo by virtue of acting outside of its boundaries, they also
constitute a potential threat. Accordingly, Benjamin argues that law and violence
are mutually sustaining.
Benjamin’s thesis initially appears to be challenged by the distinct lack of
police presence in Estrella de Mar. Indeed, the Spanish authorities are keen to
avoid intervening in any aspect of the expatriate community. Instead of police
intervention, the violence enacted by Crawford and his accomplices performs
the rule of law stripped bare of its symbolic and legitimizing powers. Just as the
artificial formation of the expatriate community is indicative of the fragility and
contingency of national boundaries, the appearance of unpredictable outbreaks
of violence exposes the fictions that support the discourse of law.
Ballard’s late fiction suggests that at the turn of the twenty-first century,
the power of religion and politics to fascinate and bind communities has been
considerably vitiated. Instead, violence is presented as a spectacle that generates
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128 Journal of Modern Literature Volume 36, Number 2
sensations of threat and uncertainty and, in doing so, promotes solidarity and
order. As Crawford states: “Crime and vandalism are everywhere. You have to rise
above these mindless thugs and the oafish world they inhabit. Insecurity forces
you to cherish whatever moral strengths you have” (CN 245). The unpredictable
threat of violence is sufficient to enervate the community and raise aspirational
standards in sports, culture, and the arts. Consequently, although Benjamin’s
work explores the violence embedded within otherwise legitimate forms of social
control, Ballard’s fiction removes these regulatory mechanisms entirely in order
to demonstrate that violence stands at the heart of communities.
Indeed, Ballard’s late fiction also speaks to the concerns of transgression
and taboo discussed by Georges Bataille in Eroticism (1987). Bataille argues that
although transgression appears in contradistinction to the law, it in fact sustains
cultural norms and beliefs: “the transgression does not deny the taboo but transcends
it and completes it” (63). In other words, the boundaries that comprise the law
are generated and sustained only through their transgression. Only after a line
is crossed does a community inscribe that line into law. By depicting a series of
violent transgressions, Ballard demonstrates the ways in which boundaries are
inscribed in order to produce social cohesion.
Against the received wisdom that violence is a destructive force that dis-
perses, silences, and isolates individuals, Cocaine Nights demonstrates the ways in
which violence paradoxically unites communities. Indeed, Crawford’s criminal
acts achieve increasing levels of visibility as they progress from petty thefts to
vandalism to what might or might not be a simulated rape in a car park, and
culminate in the destruction of a yacht and the fire at the Hollinger house.
Counter-intuitively, rather than producing apathy and social alienation, those acts
of violence demonstrate its seductive appeal. Indeed, they are displayed by Craw-
ford as visible signifiers of a shared enjoyment. Ballard’s surprising connection
between violence, enjoyment, and community is more readily understood when
we take into account Jacques Lacan’s notion of the “unary trait” that operates as
the minimal point of signification within group dynamics.
In Group Psychology and the Analysis of the Ego, Freud begins to explicitly link
psychoanalytic theory to the social and political spheres. He draws on numer-
ous instances of identifications that stand as the earliest and most basic form of
emotional bond between individuals, which Lacan later dubs the “unary trait.”
Freud’s key example is of a group of girls in a boarding school between whom
identification is established in the absence of any other similarities:
Supposing, for instance, that one of the girls in a boarding school has had a letter
from someone with whom she is secretly in love which arouses her jealousy, and that
she reacts to it with a fit of hysterics; then some of her friends who know about it will
catch the fit, as we say, by mental infection. The mechanism is that of identification
based upon the possibility or desire of putting oneself in the same situation. The other
girls would like to have a secret love affair too, and under the influence of a sense of
guilt they also accept the sense of suffering with it. (Freud 107)
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Violence and Community in Ballard’s Late Fiction 129
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130 Journal of Modern Literature Volume 36, Number 2
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Violence and Community in Ballard’s Late Fiction 131
Revolutionary Violence
Ballard’s concern with violence and community continues throughout his last two
novels. However, rather than exploring the ways in which violence paradoxically
sustains communities, Ballard now links enjoyment to consumerism and violence
to revolutionary acts. Millennium People and Kingdom Come are set in the quotidian
environments of the London suburbs and a generic shopping mall, respectively,
and both novels highlight the potential for violence to not only preserve the status
quo but also to initiate revolutionary political movements.
It is helpful to link one’s understanding of the revolutionaries in Millennium
People to Walter Benjamin’s concept of “divine violence.” Unlike “law-making”
and “law-preserving” violence, “divine violence” lies outside the law and evades
conventional representational strategies in order to facilitate the conditions of
proletarian revolution. Benjamin argues that the proletarian general strike “takes
place not in readiness to resume work following external concessions and this
or that modification to working conditions, but in the determination to resume
only a wholly transformed work, no longer enforced by the state, an upheaval
that this kind of strike not so much causes as consummates” (246). Whereas the
first form of resistance Benjamin identifies is ultimately contained and becomes
“law-making,” the second is anarchistic and causes a revaluation of the condi-
tions of production. He argues that the judicial system limits excessive violence
by implementing legal routes to conflict resolution. This is because, as Benjamin
notes, “law sees violence in the hands of individuals as a danger undermining the
legal system” (238). Consequently, he argues that law protects against violence,
not in order to preserve peaceful resolution, but to preserve the rule of law itself.
Violence outside of the law and in the hands of individuals threatens law, not
because of its aims or ends, but because of its existence outside of law. It is for
this reason that law condones certain violent actions, such as strikes, in order to
preserve its own internal logic.
In this respect, the citizens depicted in Cocaine Nights and Super-Cannes
engage in violent acts that are silently sanctified by the internal logic of the
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Violence and Community in Ballard’s Late Fiction 133
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134 Journal of Modern Literature Volume 36, Number 2
the dominant form of protest of the twentieth century. Rather than leading to a
real transformation in living conditions, separatism all too often leads to either
assimilation or destruction. This is borne out here by the actions of the residents
in the face of the authorities. Initially at least, they appear to be victorious:
The street was on fire, but Chelsea Marina had begun to transcend itself, its rent
arrears and credit-card debts. Already I could see London burning, a bonfire of bank
statements as cleansing as the Great Fire [. . .] For the first time I fully believed that
Kay was right, that we were on the edge of a social revolution with the power to seize
the nation. (MP 228–30)
The middle-class residents destroy their own property to make a stand and
abruptly the authorities begin to leave.
However, rather than constituting a victorious statement, the spectacle of the
resistance is swiftly marginalized and contained. A residents’ delegation led by
Kay is invited to participate in discussions with the police and the local councils.
Despite this apparent dissimulation on the part of the authorities, the compro-
mise reaffirms the hegemony of the capitalist State. As a consequence, the streets
swiftly return to normal: “The single intact meter soon received its first coin” (MP
231). This detail marks the residents’ return to the circuits of capitalist exchange
and their recognition of the authority of the liberal and seemingly tolerant State.
The Chelsea Marina revolt is flattened into an image for consumption and
subsumed by the culture industry: “the new guerrilla chic inspired by Chelsea
Marina [. . .] had already featured in an Evening Standard fashion spread” (MP
234). In the meantime, Kay Churchill agrees to make a television documen-
tary about middle-class radicalism. This representation of culture contrasts the
portrayal of celebrity culture in The Atrocity Exhibition in which Ballard splices
famous names such as “Princess Margaret” and “Mae West” into ostensibly neu-
tral accounts of operating procedures from a textbook of plastic surgery. Whereas
in The Atrocity Exhibition the introduction of celebrity culture into even the most
routine of contexts generates fascination, in Millennium People celebrity, and by
extension violence, are themselves treated as routine. As Ballard states in the
marginalia to The Atrocity Exhibition, appended twenty years after the novel’s
publication: “A kind of banalisation of celebrity has occurred: we are now offered
an instant, ready-to-mix fame as nutritious as packet soup” (17). Over a decade
later, Millennium People shows that although violence can function as a disrup-
tive spectacle that challenges the dominant order, its effects are temporary and it
soon appears banal. The enduring strength of the consumer society is located in
its ability to swiftly adapt to changing circumstances and assimilate hostile forces
by flattening them into sanitized forms available for consumption.
Ultimately, Millennium People offers a cautionary tale about the use of violence
within radical politics. Indeed, the novel’s depiction of the ineffectual violent
protests in the London suburbs demonstrates that power and violence are, in
fact, oppositional. As Hannah Arendt argues, “violence can destroy power; it
is utterly incapable of creating it” (56). When systems of power are challenged,
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Violence and Community in Ballard’s Late Fiction 135
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136 Journal of Modern Literature Volume 36, Number 2
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Violence and Community in Ballard’s Late Fiction 137
psychopathy are the only way people make contact with each other” (KC 147). In
this way, the racially-charged violence in Kingdom Come echoes the therapeutic
psychopathy depicted in Super-Cannes.
However, this marks a surprisingly traditional critique of consumer culture
in Ballard’s fiction, one which is perhaps inevitable given his vision of the end
state of consumerism as a perpetual cycle of sedation and psychopathy. Indeed,
this critical deadlock is reflected in the way the late fiction recycles the same basic
plotline in which outbreaks of violence initially appear to disrupt but ultimately
reinforce the status quo. With the demise of state-sponsored Communism and
the spread of capitalist markets across the globe, the traditionally non-fungible
spheres of culture and economics are increasingly interlinked and the possibility
of imagining alternatives to the consumer society appears increasingly remote.
Ballard’s critique of consumerism in Kingdom Come is not especially illuminat-
ing or revealing, but serves as a timely reminder of the infantilizing nature of
consumer culture and the vitiation of effective forms of critique at the turn of the
twenty-first century.
Millennium People and Kingdom Come constitute cautionary tales that warn
against the erosion of real political choice and its impact on notions of community
and solidarity. Although consumer society was born out of the Enlightenment
ideal of rational self-interest and purports to offer a multitude of choices, Ballard’s
fiction suggests that it ultimately curtails the rights of the individual and nullifies
the opportunity to engage in radical decision-making. The revolutionaries in Mil-
lennium People demonstrate their dissatisfaction through the spectacle of violence.
They have no clear aim beyond voicing their discontent, and this renders them a
threat to consumer culture, which seeks only to temporarily satisfy (and there-
fore stimulate) demand. However, in Kingdom Come, violence does not directly
challenge consumerism but is shown to be a constitutive element of its endgame,
emerging when the illusion that commodities can provide satisfaction begins
to fade. Ballard’s depiction of consumerism highlights its seductive appeal as it
challenges traditional civic values and class distinctions. As Cruise states, “Com-
munity means living in a little box, driving a little car, going on little holidays.
It means obeying the rules that ‘they’ tell you to obey” (KC 176). Consumerism
offers to disrupt the staid rules and traditions of the past, but its promise of new
social values manifests itself only in the celebration of sports teams and gold-card
loyalty nights. In Ballard’s critique of consumer culture, the commodity stands
at the heart of the community but is an ultimately unstable foundation on which
to build a future.
Conclusion
Ballard is a writer preoccupied with the synergistic relationship between violence
and the community. In an interview shortly before his death, he describes the
narrators in his late fiction as “outsiders beguiled into serving a regime that they
dislike but which appeals to unsatisfied needs that they have long repressed”
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138 Journal of Modern Literature Volume 36, Number 2
(Baxter 127). Ballard’s narrators are detectives who are initially repulsed yet later
seduced by the allure of violence. In each novel, they turn a blind eye to the poten-
tially disastrous effects of violence in order to become a part of the revived com-
munity. Counter-intuitively, this complicity suggests that violence is a necessary
component of a disciplined and assertive community.
Cocaine Nights and Super-Cannes suggest that rather than isolating individu-
als, the spectacle of violence paradoxically acts as a cohesive bond between other-
wise atomized individuals. Millennium People and Kingdom Come link the theme
of violence and the community to a critique of consumer society. In Millennium
People, Ballard explores the probable outcome of a violent revolutionary move-
ment that promises a new egalitarian society. Showing remarkable prescience in
the wake of the London riots in 2011 and the Occupy Wall Street protests, the
novel identifies the direction that this form of politics will take as unsettling yet
deeply ambivalent.
In Kingdom Come, Ballard suggests that dissatisfaction with the infantilizing
illusions of consumer society will generate boredom that will result in an elec-
tive psychopathy, which in turn risks being co-opted by a fascist politics. At the
conclusion of the novel, Ballard combines two images in a final description of the
destroyed Metro-Centre at the centre of Brooklands, dubbed the “real England”
by David Cruise (KC 176). The first is of a crashed airship, which as a symbol of
modernity connotes the destruction of dreams of international travel, progress,
and optimism about culture and civilization. The second is of the “caldera of a
resting volcano” (KC 279). This second, more primitive, image suggests that the
desire for violence is instinctual, born out of the evolutionary drive to survive.
“Caldera” derives from the Latin word “caldaria” or cooking pot, which suggests
that consumerism left unchecked by civic values will heat towards a boiling point
and erupt in new violence. The images evoke the endgame of consumer society, not
as a final collapse, but as a perpetual cycle of boredom, violence, and psychopathy.
Works Cited
Amis, Martin. “Cronenberg’s Monster.” Independent on Sunday (10 Nov. 1996): 8–9. Print.
Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London:
Verso, 1991. Print.
Arendt, Hannah. On Violence. London: Harvest, 1969. Print.
Ballard, J.G. The Atrocity Exhibition. 1970. London: Harper Perennial, 2006. Print.
———. Cocaine Nights. 1996. London: Harper Perennial, 2006. Print. Cited as CN.
———. Concrete Island. 1974. London: Harper Perennial, 2008. Print.
———. Crash. 1973. London: Harper Perennial, 2008. Print.
———. The Crystal World. 1966. London: Harper Perennial, 2008. Print.
———. The Drowned World. 1962. London: Gollancz, 2001. Print.
———. Empire of the Sun. 1984. London: Harper Perennial, 2006. Print
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Violence and Community in Ballard’s Late Fiction 139
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