J.G. Ballard’s ideas and nightmarish vision of an all too possible future are often stronger than his characters or plotting. Usually, this would present a problem but as the concepts explored in Kingdom Come still seem so prescient, it is easy to forgive any comparatively minor faults of the narrative. When the novel opens up with a line as commanding as: “The suburbs dream of violence. Asleep in their drowsy villas sheltered by benevolent shopping malls, they wait patiently for the nightmares that will wake them into a more passionate world” you are instantly aware of Ballard’s insight into the psychopathology of the suburbs, and what, under extreme circumstances, they could be capable of.
Richard Pearson is returning to the small town Brooklands where his father has been killed by a shooter on the rampage in a shopping centre, the Metro-Centre. As he uneasily descends from London into the outer towns, he sees their culture represented by symbols of consumerism rather than community – no history, no tradition – in part created by advertisers like himself. There are hints of a nationalism in the display of St. George flags, a pride that becomes more dangerous and unsettling as he witnesses Muslim families being evicted from their homes without protest. Arriving in Brooklands, he is unconvinced by the release of the suspected shooter and the witness statements from local authority figures. As he delves deeper into the mystery surrounding his father’s death, he uncovers a local fervour for consumerism and the Metro-Centre that borders on the neo-fascist. Vicious attacks of street violence against minority communities are seemingly orchestrated by prominent authority figures, and Richard is unsure who to trust and the motives of these people, yet determined to discover the truth about his father’s mysterious death.
Consumerism is the greatest device anyone has invented for controlling people. New fantasies, new dreams and dislikes, new souls to heal. For some peculiar reason, they call it shopping. But it’s really the purest kind of politics.
The characters, other than Richard, do seem to blur together. They appear as mere mouthpieces for Ballard’s ideas about the links between consumerism and fascism, Richard is involved in long conversations about the state of society – yet somehow, they work to get Ballard’s point across. Perhaps the narrative itself is also tentatively built around these ideas, but it captures the basic concepts in a way that makes them recognizable and relevant. As Richard befriends the local cable channel figurehead, David Cruise, he begins to use him to express his own ideas about leadership through subtle masochism of the masses. It is here, though Richard refuses to acknowledge his part in it, that the feverish love for the Metro-Centre truly turns primal, even totemistic. What is at heart a social experiment for an advertiser becomes a fascist state driven by consumerism, emotion and violence. Richard seems surprised that his messages of irony have been taken seriously as slogans for a political movement, but he himself was aware of the unquestioning devotion of the Metro-Centre shoppers.
‘Why not? We’re totally degenerate. We lack spine, and any faith in ourselves. We have a tabloid world-view, but no dreams or ideals. We have to be teased with the promise of deviant sex. [...] We’re worth nothing, but we worship our barcodes. We’re the most advanced society our planet has ever seen, but real decadence is far out of our reach. We’re so desperate we have to rely on people like you to spin a new set of fairy tales, cosy little fantasies of alienation and guilt [...]‘
After an attempted assassination attempt on David Cruise’s life, the supporters, authorities and Richard are barracaded in the Metro-Centre for months. Trapped in the revered centre, the religious instinct takes over the shoppers: altars to the sick and the dying, no looting of the worshipped consumer goods, an unofficial power structure begins to establish and finally destroy itself. This section is much shorter compared to the build up, more time spent locked inside the Metro-Centre could have heightened the anxiety, and the inescapable violence.
Despite the possibly intentional blankness of the characters, Ballard extrapolates upon a consumerist culture to create a bleak image of the future that is frighteningly possible, using the motifs and messages we are all familiar with and turning them into something unsettling and disturbing. For a novel written in 2006 Kingdom Come is conspicuously lacking any reference to internet or surveillance technology, though the damning condemnation of our buy any/every thing culture remains startlingly relevant.
I’ve heard much about this book. I love books that explore consumerism, marketing and their influence on society. The theme of nationalism piqued my interest, too. I’ve written recently (not my blog) on the co-option of the Southern Cross by right wing Australian nationalists and the feeling of shame it now invokes. Very potent. Very dark – and a backlash against a particular moment in time and vision of a certain PM who liked Pierre Cardin suits. Vale that moment. I was in second year at uni when it all began to unravel.
I’m adding this to my TBR. Thank you for reminding me of it once more.
The Southern Cross thing was exactly what I was thinking when I read Kingdom Come, the not-so-subtle racism accepted as part of the “Aussie larrikin character” and how anyone who dares question it is an uptight, politically correct joykiller. Ballard takes the idea of misappropriation of national symbols – though, he obviously was thinking about it in an English context – and pushes it to violent extremes. Where the novel fails – though fails is way too strong, more that it misses the mark – on the narrative front, it more than makes up for in the concepts that Ballard was able to apply with a seemingly prophetic vision.
I’m a big fan of his, in case it wasn’t obvious!