I understand Ballard's message and themes here on the intersection of technology and biology, the obsession with celebrity, and the primal intermingling simultaneous desire for deah and sex; however multiple pages of repetitive passages on bodily fluids and car parts just made this tedious to get through. I have no idea what the plot was or what was happening. Ballard's writing sublimely washes over the reader, leaving them a dishelleved mess sometimes almost like Nabokov, but this does not have the tightness or control that Nabokov has. I see the appeal, it's just not for me