| Title | : | Cocaine Nights |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | 1582430179 |
| ISBN-10 | : | 9781582430171 |
| Language | : | English |
| Format Type | : | Paperback |
| Number of Pages | : | 336 |
| Publication | : | First published January 1, 1996 |
| Awards | : | Whitbread Award Novel (1996) |
Cocaine Nights Reviews
-
Charles Prentice sets out to investigate the multiple murder that his own brother has confessed to, despite nobody at all believing he did it: he gets caught up in the decadence and mysteries of the social elite group of expats that his brother had become a part of. Interesting, but a bit directionless at times, just like being on Cocaine, allegedly.
One of those fun book titles to read on public transport :)
A Two Star 5 out of 12, up to a Three Star 6 out of 12 on my second reading :)
2016 read, 2012 read -
In the early stages of Cocaine Nights this very much had the feel of a nuts and bolts whodunit. In fact, that whodunit scenario (although it's the 'why' rather than the 'who' that becomes more important in the end) remained for the entirety of the novel, but, just when I thought that Ballard had lost his edge, thrown the shocks out the window, and written a sun-drenched conventional murder thriller of trying to find the bad guy, I was pleased to learn that Cocaine Nights is called Cocaine Nights for a reason. Ballard gives us drugs - a whole load of drugs - both prescribed and illegal, along with sociopathic violence, porno tapes, dodgy psychiatrists, a self-policed fortress-like housing complex (the Residencia Costasol), transgressive sex, and of course, satire. Yep, we're in a Ballard novel alright, and, like 'Crash', he serves up his sex and violence with a thesis. The further I got into this the more I became less interested in the identity of the killer/killers responsible for the deaths of the Hollingers and their maid, and more drawn to the boring comatosed lives hidden away behind the curtains at the Residencia. The sun shines all day long and there is a marina full of unused boats, swimming pools that haven't seen a ripple, and various other activities and clubs that have no members. It seems these folk want nothing more than to stay in the dark like vampires and watch TV in-between the daytime napping. Why? And that's where the tennis pro Bobby Crawford comes in, who believes he has found the key connection between transgression and civilization. From what I've read of Ballard so far, this is one of his best created characters. Whilst humorous, cool and controlled and loved by the ladies, there was something altogether terrifying about him. If the first half of the novel felt like a crime detective story, the second half sees Ballard shift things into a work of visionary ideas and fundamental questions regarding the expat community - like using a crime wave as a form of leisure & entertainment - where stealing, torching, smahing, and prostituting go hand in hand with creativity - and it's all the better for it. I've got this far and haven't even mentioned the narrator Charles Prentice yet, who is out to clear his brother's name for five arson murders. It's strange to say this, but for me Charles felt more like a secondary character - or at least until he got sucked up into Bobby Crawford's world - whilst other characters like Dr Paula Hamilton and Dr Sanger stood out more - even though they featured less. If Charles were the skin, Hamilton & Sanger the fruit underneath, then no doubts that Crawford was the core - along with the Costa del Sol itself. -
”Crossing frontiers is my profession. These strips of no man’s land between the checkpoints always seem such zones of promise, rich with the possibilities of new lives, new scents and affections. At the same time they set off a reflex of unease that I have never been able to repress. As the customs officials rummage through my suitcases I sense them trying to unpack my mind and reveal a contraband of forbidden dreams and memories.”
I was thinking of Paul Bowles when I read this opening to Cocaine Nights. Bowles could have written that paragraph, but then I’m reminded of many of the writers I’ve enjoyed the most in my reading career whenever I read a J. G. Ballard. He makes a reference a few pages later to Graham Greene. ”You used to say that your only interests in life were opium and brothels. Pure Graham Greene, but there was always something heroic there. Do you smoke a few pipes?”
Certainly, Joseph Conrad also lurks around the edges of any Ballard novel, sailing his ghost ship from one chapter to the next.
Charles Prentice is a travel writer who has come to Estrella de Mar not to write about the place but to see his younger brother who is in jail for incinerating five people. He finds it hard to believe that his brother, Frank, is capable of such an act, but he is even more baffled by the fact that his brother has...confessed. He decides to launch his own amateur investigation because the police, with a confession in pocket, are not really interested in muddying the crystal clear waters of a slam dunk conviction.
As Charles talks to Frank’s associates, acquaintances, friends, and lovers, he is struck by the fact that everyone believes Frank to be innocent, but they don’t offer any alternative guilty parties. A bit odd, that, but then Estrella de Mar is proving to be a rather odd place. There is a placid calmness to the setting, with menacing overtones of impending chaos. The site is an enclave of bored, rich people who have need of some impetus to do...something.
Bobby Crawford, the tennis pro at the club, nearly stupefied with boredom may be the spark who shatters the peaceful tranquility. “You’ll bring them back to life--with amateur porn-films, burglary and cocaine?” As Charles becomes more and more enamored with the charismatic Crawford, he actually starts to believe that Bobby might be onto something. It reminds me of the Matrix movie when a perfect society was built and people killed themselves in alarming numbers, so the designers added strife back into their lives, and everyone was happier. Do we need strife? Something to fear to feel alive?
We see Charles becoming more enmeshed in the life of this community. It’s as if he seamlessly steps into the life of his brother, fulfilling a role that would be missed once Frank goes to jail. He even takes up with Frank’s girlfriend, Dr. Paula Hamilton, who seems to know more about the night of the fire than what she is willing to share. As Charles becomes more tangled with Bobby’s seemingly demented plans, his thoughts about his brother become a secondary concern. Even his plans for assembling a book on the architecture of the world’s brothels becomes a hazy and distant fancy. One of those ideas for a book that G.G. would cock his eyebrow at, but would shake his head in doubting wonderment as he poured himself another few fingers of bourbon.
Did Frank do it?
”Guilt is so flexible, it’s a currency that changes hands...each time losing a little value.”
If not Frank, who? And does Charles even care anymore?
Everytime I read another book by Ballard I move him up the list of my favorite authors. He deftly explores the concepts of man against man, man against nature, man against himself. His books are sultry, sexy, and humming with elegant intelligence. His themes continue to be relevant today, whether they were written early in his career in the 1960s or in his twilight years. If you like some of the writers I mentioned in this review, give Ballard a try. He might prove to be a favorite of yours as well.
If you wish to see more of my most recent book and movie reviews, visit
http://www.jeffreykeeten.com
I also have a Facebook blogger page at:
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https://www.instagram.com/jeffreykeeten/ -
This book started out with tremendous promise. That sounds more patronising than I would like. It blew my mind. Is that better? I couldn't believe I had avoided this author for so long. If you are an avid reader, not reading J.G. Ballard is like depriving yourself of air. Each sentence glitters with intelligence. The rhythm, the poise, the vocabulary, the imagery are all perfect. He has a fine sense of character and there is passion beneath his hard, cynical edge.
But as the book goes along it degenerates. Not because of the language, which continues to be perfect: perfectly judged and perfectly paced. The similes come just as thick and fast as before. The words still glitter. The images still haunt your brain.
But something happens to the credibility. J.G. Ballard is not like other men. He is aloof from ordinary human motivation. His psychology is not quite sane. He has a pathological empathy with weird conditions. He imagines humanity differently from the rest of us.
So I stopped enjoying it. He lays the groundwork for his plot very thoroughly. He is like an advertising man. He is very persuasive and very plausible. But his words are a veneer laid over a corrupt underbelly that failed to convince. The twist at the end also didn't ring true.
I was disappointed. I was bitterly disappointed. Because when he is good he is breathtakingly good. -
After enjoying
High Rise so much, we went on a bit of a spending spree and bought several
Ballard novels to follow it up. In part because it was recently the work book club choice (although I'm not actually a member)
Cocaine Nights was the first one out of the pile. As with High Rise this is the tale of something we think we know, British ex-pats moving to Spain, but somehow corrupted beyond our expectations by some trigger event. With High Rise it was the loss of power; with Cocaine Nights it is the presence of the tennis coach – Bobby Crawford.
Charles Prentice arrives at Estrella de Mar to rescue his brother Frank, who has been wrongfully imprisoned for the starting a house fire that killed several people in the resort. Except when he arrives he is confused to discover that while almost everybody claims to believe Frank couldn't have committed the crime, his brother has already confessed to the police; and when Charles presses him to explain himself refuses to allow him to visit any more. Charles decides to launch his own investigation and is drawn into the community of Estrella de Mar – its residents, its clubs and committees, and its surprising underbelly of exciting crime.
Estrella de Mar isn't like any of the other resorts. Instead of tired ex-pats hiding away in their apartments watching satellite TV, it houses a vibrant community of friends who party, learn tennis, have affairs; and as we slowly realise sell drugs, engage in prostitution and commit petty thefts. They don't though, burn down their friends houses with their friends inside. Instead of clearing his brother Charles comes to understand (he thinks) how Estrella de Mar is such a success, and he starts to buy into Bobby's ideas of the link between crime and creativity. The resort has to maintain a low-level of crime in order to get people out of their apartments and forming committees and becoming active. The problem that Charles seems to miss is that, like the drugs that are circulating, the low-level crime slowly stops being enough. Eventually you need a larger event to push the community over the edge and into a permanent state of activity and creativity. Was the fire just such an event, and if so, why is Frank taking the blame for it?
While the story is delightfully clever and sociopathic, the book does feel a little slow in some of the middle sections. Whether this was Ballard's attempt to slow the conversion of Charles Prentice down a little (it does seem a little fast even then) or not I don't know, but I quite liked the speed with which Charles was won over. To me it added more credence to Bobby's cult-like charisma. The whole resort have been taken in, if Charles takes too long to join in it feels like he's being convinced through rational arguments. The speed makes much more of a statement that it's almost somehow viral. That just by being in Estrella de Mar and being in contact with all the other residents, he could get caught up in the whole thing within a matter of weeks. -
All My Ideas Run to Crime
I've always enjoyed J G Ballard's novels in the past, but this one lost me about three quarters of the way through.
Ballard was prescient about the world of the future in his fiction. However, once the premise of this novel resolved into how the expatriate British, French, Swiss and German residents of gated communities on the idyllic Mediterranean coast of Spain turned to crime (hard drugs, both taking and dealing, prostitution and pornography) to overcome their leisure-induced boredom, I felt that it became more far-fetched and improbable than insightful or persuasive.
The novel is as structured and as tightly paced as a crime thriller. About a quarter of the way through, it seems to question whether an investigative process can ever determine the truth, especially when everybody, even the police, seems to be deliberately withholding it from you. The narrator's brother, Frank, has indicated that he will plead guilty to criminal charges of arson and murder. Nobody, let alone the narrator, Charles, believes that Frank committed the crimes, and Charles sets out to prove that he is innocent.
Surely, Frank has no motive (or does he?). However, instead of finding evidence, Charles gains an understanding of the community and social set in which his brother moved. (High) society is to blame! Bit by bit, a la Antonioni's "The Passenger" and Polanski's "The Tenant", he takes on Frank's roles and responsibilities in the community, even romantically. Charles crosses frontiers, only to transgress in his own right. Despite the humour and doubly vicarious pleasure in this situation, it stretches the imagination a little too far.
It's Kafkaesque, only, instead of waking up as an insect, Charles wakes up as his brother in a community that manages itself on the basis of perversely incomprehensible rituals and conventions that recall "The Trial".
Ultimately, for most of the novel, it walks a thin line between allegory and farce, but towards the end it transgresses a little too overtly towards the farcical. At this point, notwithstanding the quality of the prose, it ceases to either convince or entertain, and therefore to reward the reader. Well, at least this reader!
SOUNDTRACK:
T.Rex - "Dandy In The Underworld"
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=tX24L7t...
"Exalted companion of cocaine nights":
http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/trex/d...
Ed Kuepper - "All My Ideas Run To Crime"
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=SqJg6GV...
Crime & the City Solution - "Six Bells Chime"
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=zrMRks0... -
Another J G Ballard that I have really enjoyed. I think it's because although his stories have a fantastical element to them....in that you can't REALLY see how things would turn out as they do in his books...they are at the same time very believable. Cocaine Nights is almost more believable than the other Ballard novels I've read, I had no problem picturing the endless Spanish resorts filled with British expat retirees and the complex characters that he has created.
A star down, as the ending unfortunately is a little too predictable and abrupt, there didn't seem to be anywhere else for the story to go. I'd have liked more of a twist. -
Okay, let's look at this: Marc Bolan recorded "Dandy In the Underworld" which had lyrics which referred to 'cocaine nights'...then died in a car crash because his usual Rolls was loaned out to Hawkwind, an offshoot band project of sci-fi author Michael Moorcock, who was friendish with J.G. Ballard who wrote a book - three years earlier - about car crashes and then, you know, this book twenty years later.
-
This will be the first of three reviews that center around a world that has lost its moral and ethical compass. I didn't plan this as a reading theme, but it came up! Of the three, this is probably the most realistic (not hard when the other two are G.K. Chesterton's The Man Who Was Thursday, and C.S. Lewis' That Hideous Strength,) and also the most pessimistic. This is likely because the other two authors are deeply Christian, and so have a solution for the world's woes. Ballard, writing far more recently, has no such comfort.
Note: The rest of this review has been withdrawn due to the changes in Goodreads policy and enforcement. You can read why I came to this decision
here.
In the meantime, you can read the entire review at
Smorgasbook -
Certainly the most conventionally structured Ballard novel I have read, but even within the confines of a murder mystery plot, the author's usual preoccupations burst forth: liberation in transgression, liberation in flight, drained swimming pools, psychiatrists, the dangers of boredom. He is one of those rare writers who, while you are reading his works, alters the way you perceive the world. Everything becomes a stage set, ready to be torn down.
I wonder what I would have made of Cocaine Nights if it had been the first of Ballard's novels I had read. I suspect it might come off as a failed genre piece, rather than a thriller filtered through his peculiar and unsettling sensibility. Better to go deep, I think, and start with something uncompromising like The Unlimited Dream Company. -
"Cocaine Nights" belongs to the genre of crime fiction, instead of Sci-fi, as I would have guessed by the author. In spite of this fact the atmosphere it is built around is similar to the one in Ballard's science fiction books (although I must admit I am no expert on him, having read so far "The drowned world" and "High-Rise"- the latter being of my favourite books). The story is taking place in the worm lieu of a high-class resort for retired central-Europeans at the equator and it involves passions and speculation on the behaviour of human societies. From that point of view it is not so different from other futuristic novels of the same author. I shall mark it with four stars, having in mind that I am fond of Ballard's writing and that this fondness increases with familiarity.
-
As a teenager I read and recall quite enjoying
The Atrocity Exhibition (1970),
Crash (1973), and
High-Rise (1975), so was interested to return to
J.G. Ballard
The early sections put me in mind of
High-Rise. I suspect my hazy recollections of this book are now better informed by the wonderful cinematic adaptation directed by Ben Wheatley. Like
High-Rise,
Cocaine Nights is about post-industrial communities cut off from the rest of the world, and the power dynamics within.
Protagonist Charles Prentice arrives in Spain to investigate his brother's involvement in the death of five people in a fire. In the Spanish upmarket coastal resort of Estella de Mar, and like everywhere in Ballard's future, crimes have no motives.
Posing as a whodunnit, or perhaps more accurately a whydunnit,
Cocaine Nights is a tale awash with drugs, violence, pornography, and the odd psychiatrist. Bobby Crawford, a charismatic tennis pro, believes he has identified the link between crime and community engagement. By committing a series of low level crimes, the citizens of the sleepy, fortified Spanish Costa del Sol communities awake to re-engage with each other and the world. But, inevitably, there's a price to be paid including the odd scapegoat.
Cocaine Nights is provocative and enjoyable, and a novel where the ideas are more important than the crime, sex, and drugs fuelled plot.
4/5
-
Before reading this, I read a lot of reviews about it and most of them said that yes, it starts well and the pace picks up a bit, but then, some 80 pages in, it starts to lose it. Like the author just ran out of fuel and decided to take the flight without it.
They were *sorta* right. Its beginning is really nice and you get the feeling that this is going to be such an amazing story and wow-how-much-fun-you're-gonna-get.. but then there's no enthusiasm anymore. It's just.. gone.
This Estrella De Mar place, or Residencia Costasol, these seem to be such fake places that even I wouldn't believe them. Yes, it's dystopian, and by definition it should have an unrealistic feel to it, but that's a bit too much. I mean, come on, it's just not possible!
On to Charles, the main character of this work. I felt like he believed them too much. And by them I mean anyone. When Paula told him anything that would counterfeit what he was previously thinking, he was happy to believe it. When Crawford told him he didn't set fire to the Hollinger's house, he believed him.
He was perfectly happy believing in anyone, so long they gave him the answer he was secretly hoping to hear. That was fine, for about 50 pages. But then I started thinking Charles was really dumb.
Crawford. I hated him. From the very beginning. Too confident, too much of a smart mouth.. And how everyone seemed to give him the prize for Saviour of the Year! Oooh, how cute.. not.
I'd have liked to see more of Frank (Charles' brother) in the story. He just doesn't appear, at all, and a confrontation between the two would have been a nice thing. Also, the ending was a bit .. well, lame. It lacked substance. It wasn't the worst ending, but surely Ballard could have come up with something better!
What I really did like about this book, actually what I like about Ballard, is the language usage. He is one fine writer, from the technical point of view. Maybe he doesn't have his story all set up, but his expressions are priceless and his jokes are so subtle and beautifully crafted! Really, really nice writing!
Here are some quotes I love:
Here on Costa del Sol nothing would ever happen again, and the people of the pueblos were already ghosts of themselves.
The faint scent of bath gel still clung to my skin, the perfume of my own strangulation that embraced me like a forbidden memory.
"Too well". She laughed at herself. "I sound mean, don't I? You'll be glad to hear that he's not a good lover."
"Why not?"
"He's not selfish enough. Selfish men make the best lovers. They're prepared to invest in the woman's pleasure so that they can collect an even bigger dividend for themselves."
Remember, white is the color of silence.
"Residencia Costasol is pure 1990s. Security rules. Everything is designed around an obsession with crime."
"I take it there isn't any?"
"None. Absolutely nothing. And Illicit thought never disturbs the peace."
-
First time reading Ballard. I've heard of him before, and often in the context of Burroughs work. So after the Burroughs biography i thought i'd give him a go. It was well worth it. Although the story itself, is lacking something, i don't know what. Nevertheless the ideas he's playing with here are fantastic stuff. Particularly liked his romanticism of Crime, Its definitely something that he shares with Burroughs, as well as Genet (another Burroughs favourite)but played out here in a distinct fashion. Will have to read more.
-
A house fire in the upmarket British expat enclave of Estrella de Mar on the Costa del Sol results in five deaths. Frank Prentice, the manager of the popular Club Nautico, pleads guilty and is charged with murder, but no one believes he committed the crime, not even the police. Frank’s brother Charles travels from the U.K. to investigate the crime and find the culprit.
Charles discovers that Bobby Crawford, Estrella de Mar’s amoral and charismatic head tennis coach, is the orchestrator of a society rampant with crime, drugs and adultery. Over time Charles becomes increasingly immersed in resort life and less concerned with his brother’s plight.
Cocaine Nights is a combination of crime thriller and dystopian fiction, in which the plot provides a context for a study of how crime proves to be a catalyst that transforms a stupefied population faced with unlimited leisure into a functioning, cohesive and vibrant community.
Rife with descriptive prose and replete with similes and satirical observations, Cocaine Nights explores how society might fragment in a dystopian near future, a recurring theme in much of Ballard’s writing, and one which the author tackles adeptly.
Although this reader found Cocaine Nights to be unabsorbing at times, the characters unrealistic and the events unconvincing, it is an eminently readable book with a memorable and unpredictable ending. -
Like a less-good Super-Cannes xD
With this, Super-Cannes and Kingdom Come, Ballard seemed to be writing variations on the same novel. But it's a novel I love and will keep reading in its different forms! -
Definitely feel the need to justify this rating, and my disappointment with Ballard (who feels like a "writers' writer") in general. Got pretty far into a review using John Updike's nexus of critique, but then the internet happened, and GR decided to erase it all. I'll try and replace the loss soonish.
Update:
Firstly, I'm planning to read The Drowned World, and I listened to My Dream of Flying to Wake Island on The Guardian's fiction podcast, but beyond that this novel is my first foray into Ballardian territory. Wouldn't have been my optimal choice, but it's available for free on the avant-garde storehouse
UbuWeb, adapted from cassette(!)
The book starts out as a pretty generic crime thriller, involving a murder of in tropic island paradise Estrella del Mar. The narrator, a travel journalist whose brother has inexplicably copped to the crime, investigates what turns out to be a far deeper conspiracy than he'd suspected.
...
...
It stretches out for a long time, and it doesn't really feel like there's much of a payoff. I understand some of what Ballard might be going for here: a world devoid of morality, anodyne, soulless automatons going through anhedonous lives as metaphor for the modern condition.
But this book is neither fun nor meaningful: it's too long, flat, bland and pleasureless, which makes me think that it might just work as performance art: the struggle of getting through such half-assed hackery as metaphor for a very bleak existence.
Anyway, I found it kind of distressing to be so underwhelmed by a book I'd been so looking forward to, so I availed myself of John Updike's criticism rules to see if I'd been fair, or at least to make my opinion completely clear in my own mind.
1. Try to understand what the author wished to do, and do not blame him for not achieving what he did not attempt.
As an airport paperback, it's OK - though not enough to keep me from compulsively checking how much was left.
2. Give enough direct quotation—at least one extended passage—of the book's prose so the review's reader can form his own impression, can get his own taste.
"Crossing frontiers is my profession. Those strips of no-man's land between the checkpoints always seem such zones of promise, rich with the possibility of new lives, new scents and affections. At the same time they set off a reflex of unease that I have never been able to repress."
That style is pretty much two thirds the book.
3. Confirm your description of the book with quotation from the book, if only phrase-long, rather than proceeding by fuzzy précis.
Can't do this one as I don't have a physical copy. (Maybe that was the problem?)
4. Go easy on plot summary, and do not give away the ending.
☑
5. If the book is judged deficient, cite a successful example along the same lines, from the author's œuvre or elsewhere. Try to understand the failure. Sure it's his and not yours?
Well, it's hard to find a comparable author. Maybe a crime writer like Raymond Chandler? Maybe after The Drowned World, I'll have a better grasp of what I'm dealing with.
I think the failure is in subject matter, making a creepy, alienated feeling into a book length murder mystery. I could have done without a lot of the exposition. I just want to read enjoyable prose, or find some kind of recognition in what I'm reading - even a Kafkaesque sort of recognised alienation.
And the final rule:
6.Do not accept for review a book you are predisposed to dislike...never try to put the author "in his place,"...Review the book, not the reputation. Submit to whatever spell, weak or strong, is being cast. Better to praise and share than blame and ban.
The communion between reviewer and his public is based upon the presumption of certain possible joys of reading, and all our discriminations should curve toward that end.
I spend a lot of time these days thinking about what it is that makes fiction enjoyable, and why we pursue it so avidly. Whatever that mysterious factor is, here it is absent. Reading this book was a pleasure I'd gladly have yielded. -
The travel writer Charles Prentice goes to the resort of Estrella de Mar because his brother Frank is there in prison having confessed to setting fire that killed five people. Charles is sure his brother is innocent, and tries to prove it.
Like Ballard's Running Wild which I have recently finished, this is a mystery of sorts. In fact, it probably fits better into the form than than Running Wild. The basic plot of Cocaine Nights is that a crime has been committed, and a amateur detective takes the case. With this taking place on a resort like this, I think there is some hints of Agatha Christie in this. Miss Marple might have visited such a resort on her holiday.
But of course the tone of the novel is very far from the cozy world of Christie. This is much more noir. This is about the seediness that lurks under the upstanding image of the people that hang around the poolside for years, playing bridge. The best thing about this book in my view is in fact the consistent noirish tone of it.
But it's never really suspenseful, and for some reason I didn't care that much about where these characters ended up anyway. I think this will be my last Ballard for a while. The world presented in both Running Wild and Cocaine Nights doesn't really interest me enough to keep me wanting more of the same. That being said, I will admit that I thought Cocaine Nights was a lot better then Running Wild. -
The sheer existence of such a publication proves that 1) If there is a God, She is a cruel sadist who makes readers pick up books with funky titles on the weight of the sheer hype of the author and that the book had been actually shortlisted for numerous prizes, before bludgeoning them (the reader) with the most ridiculous plots, the most cliché phrases, the most flat and/or plagiarized characters, and the worst command of the English language coupled with scaling-walls-with-fingernails-awful writing; and 2) That once you've made yourself a name, somehow, the editors don't read your text, don't even pass it through a proofreader, but print it off right away and support it with hype-advertisment. If ever there is one single writer in print that is worse than J.G. Ballard, I would be interested in seeing what THAT could possibly read like!
What a waste of perfectly good vomit... -
DNF at 30%
I can't get into this so I'm going to leave it for now. It sounded like something I'd like but I just can't connect to it and I just don't want to pick it up!
I'm sad as I have liked other books by this author...and it was for a book club read...oh well, what can you do 🤷 -
A book so Ballardian that it almost falls into its own category. Charles Prentice arrives in Spain to see his brother, Frank, who has been arrested following a fire in the exclusive resort of Estrella de Mar. Upon Charles’ arrival he becomes submerged in a world of drugs, violence and perverse sex that swallows him and transforms him into the very thing that he set out to destroy.
Cocaine Nights is the very definition of Ballardian fiction in which crime, sex and drugs are all amalgamated together in a frenzy of psychological experimentation. Other themes are also present, which have emerged in other works by J G Ballard such as the idea of incest and the links between the human psyche and criminal behaviour. Cocaine Nights is extremely similar to another of his works, Super Cannes, which follows a similar model of a man investigation a crime that has taken place at an exclusive resort. Though Cocaine Nights was written first and was very enjoyable, I much preferred both the idea of Super Cannes as well as the denouement of the novel. I fear that my enjoyment of Cocaine Nights has been stifled due to the fact that I loved Super Cannes so much and would go as far to say it was my favourite Ballard novel.
Cocaine Nights investigates whether as a species, humans are doomed to a world of brain-death and solitude due to security and gated living; the only way to overcome this moribund life-style is to commit acts of violence and petty crime in order to reawaken the society and force them to act. Paranoia is also something that runs throughout Cocaine Nights, this occurs from many people’s point of view and not just Charles’.
The novel is overall very stylised and thoughtful; every little aspect of their everyday lives comes together in the end to form a strong story with many twists and turns. I enjoyed the characters and found them thought provoking and all representative of aspects of Ballard’s futuristic alternative reality. However I did find at points the novel dragged, and I thought that the very last chapter was weak and did not end the novel in the explosive and exciting way that I expected from Ballard, especially considering the big build up to what I thought would be a finale. I would recommend this to someone, especially Ballard fans, but I would say if you want to read a Ballard for a story then read Super Cannes. Having said this, Cocaine Nights is far more compelling as a piece of literature and Ballard’s most creatively written piece with fantastic imagery. -
What is it with ageing male writers and 'disturbing' dystopian visions of the fate of humanity? Along with McCarthy's "The Road" or Houellebecq's "Atomised", Ballard spends the whole novel beating us about the head with another tired, gloomy, and inevitably terminal prognosis for the world.
Cocaine Nights, sadly, lacks the poetic prose of "The Road" or the more robust intellectualism of Houellebecq. It revolves around one central premise. We're all heading towards a future of unlimited leisure, and unless we're stimulated out of it by crime, drugs and deviant sex, we're on a collision course with tranquiliser addiction and brain death. What utter rubbish. Not everyone wants to bake their lives away in gated estates in Spain, even assuming we could afford it. And even if we could, most would rather have a nice little cottage in Cornwall or the Charente than a concrete box on the Costa del Sol.
This silly, facile novel reminded me of nothing more than "Eldorado", that terrible soap opera the BBC treated us to a few years back - not that I ever managed to sit through a whole episode. No one has anything approaching a real conversation. There's no attempt at realistic psychology or motivation. Like bad porn, it's all sex and violence held together by the flimsiest of plots. It's all one great yawning ego trip, summed up by that other old literary misanthrope Camus: "Apres moi, le deluge". After all, when you're the centre of your own universe, how can you endure the waning of your own personal power and influence without the comfort of assuming the rest of humanity is going down the drain with you? -
The perfect book, I suppose, has three things going for it: (1) great, realistic characters, who are transformed in believable, often desirable ways, (2) an interesting and perhaps unpredictable plot that holds our attention, not to mention holds water in whatever stream of reality the story finds itself, and (3) eloquent writing.
And then we have Cocaine Nights by J.G. Ballard, author of Crash and Empire of the Sun.
“Crossing frontiers is my profession,” Charles Prentice states at the book’s opening. He is a travel writer who has come to a strange Spanish resort to figure out why his apparently innocent brother would plead guilty to murder. Charles goes through a bit of a mind trip as he starts to solve the mystery.I drove back to Los Monteros and walked along the beach, a forlorn shelf of ochre sand littered with driftwood and waterlogged crates, like the debris of a ransacked mind.
Perhaps it’s the reader who ends up with the ransacked mind after finishing this disappointing, sloppily-written book. Ridiculous, unrealistic scenarios. One-dimensional characters. Plot contrivances. And worst of all, I thought the whole premise was questionable. Art, culture, and community involvement comes directly from crime? It’s an interesting idea, but one that Ballard did not begin to sell. I’m not sure how this book made it to press; I suppose that’s the book’s greatest mystery.
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I didn't know what to expect from a book titled "Cocaine Nights", so I was surprised when I really, really liked it. Charles' brother, Frank, has been accused of multiple murders in a tiny resort town in Spain and has pleaded guilty. Charles travels to the town to investigate what happened for himself, knowing his brother could not have harmed anyone, let alone killed several people. Estrella de Mar is a thriving, exciting town with an interesting cast of characters. Charles falls into the charms of some of the more charismatic among those characters and the result is a dive into this murder mystery, way down into the dark underbelly of what drives us all to have "successful" society.
If this book isn't a movie, it needs to be. I loved the slowly unfolding plot lines- slow enough that it builds anticipation, but not too slow that it's frustrating. The characters really were fascinating and it's left to the reader to decide who's telling the truth, if such a thing really exists.
Food: This is a murder mystery dinner. As the courses go on, more clues are revealed, and all the food is themed to go with the dinner. Dessert is served with rich, dark port and carried in under a cloche, waiting until the last minute to be revealed as... -
The master doing what he does best: using the rigid structure of genre fiction to question the culture it was born from and all its excesses.
In Cocaine Nights, Ballard uses mystery tropes to explore the weird, terrifying and sun-soaked universe of the elites living in resort towns and gated communities. Although the mystery aspects of Cocaine Nights can get pretty run-of-the-mill, they're confined to the first half of the novel and completely disappear once the narrator Charles starts living the life of his brother Frank and starts understanding the mechanics of Estrella De Mar community. It then beautiful a true blue Ballard novel in all its glorious weirdness.
The underlying awfulness of wealthy people is a recurring theme in Ballard's fiction, because their well-guarded lifestyle leads to the utmost terrifying forms of freedom and they are in full display in Cocaine Nights! One of my top 5 Ballards. -
Another fascinating examination of the ills of modern society as only Ballard could imagine them. This has some of the same running themes as Super Cannes, but the mystery element is much more accentuated here. I can only hope that I never wind up part of a sleepy retirement community, thanks to Ballard's work.
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Tongue-in-cheek, nasty here and carnal there, exposing the animal interior behind the bourgeois façade. This is an entertaining crime thriller infused with post-modern dystopian themes.
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Negaidīju, ka šis detektīvs (sen nebiju lasījis tos) ar vilinošo nosaukumu un ar diezgan ievelkošu sižetu beigās iedos man tādu negaidītu skatu uz sabiedrību un spēkiem, kas spējīgi to atmodināt un sapurināt. Izsakos neskaidri, lai nebūtu spoileru. Iespējams, pat kaut kādā ziņā aktuāli tieši tagad, kad Rietumu sabiedrība lielākoties joprojām čuč zombijiskā, letarģiskā miegā, kuru pat tuvojošās kara (un noziedzības) brāzmas neatmodina.
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‘Noches de cocaína’ es una de las últimas novelas de J. G. Ballard, y aunque la Costa del Sol que vislumbra puede parecer una descripción distópica para quien no la conozca, la verdad es que es de un realismo aún más inquietante. En un trayecto entre Gibraltar y Marbella, el protagonista comienza a viendo huertas, garajes de tractores, proyectos de mansiones y un parque acuático a medio construir para, al acercarse a Sotogrande, observar que “los campos de golf empezaron a multiplicarse como síntomas de un cáncer hipertrofiado en una pradera”. Enseguida se da cuenta de que, al contrario que la Costa Azul o la de Liguria, “la Costa del Sol carecía hasta de los rudimentos de cierto encanto escénico o arquitectónico (…) Sotogrande era un pueblo sin centro ni suburbios y parecía poco más que un terreno de campos de golf y piscinas dispersas”. Los residentes parecen “vivir en un mundo sin acontecimientos”. Después se acuerda de Arcosanti, una urbanización de los años 70 de Arizona construida por el arquitecto Paolo Soleri, que fue un laboratorio contracultural, visionario y utópico de fusión de arquitectura a escala humana y ecología, pero sin embargo tiene claro que todo lo que ve allí es el futuro de Europa, “una especie de limbo largamente deseado”.
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I wanted to like this book far more than I did. As with 'Crash', Ballard confronts the excesses of contemporary society with unflinching conviction and a knack for nauseating medical details. The story rests on the intelligent conceit of an expat mediterranean society that utilizes crime as a means to wake itself up from valium induced stupor. Instigated by an evergreen ex tennis pro who envisions a world where people are forced to connect with their surroundings in a manner that involves both creation and destruction. Sculpture classes and Pinter revivals alongside filmed rapes and a group murder; the latter becoming the focus of an imaginatively subverted thriller.
Two main obstacles prevented me being as impressed with this book as I felt I should have been. The first was that as a thriller I found it unsatisfying. Ballard uses the genre to structure what is essentially a book of ideas, and in so doing loses the requisite surprise revelations, twists and satisfactorily closed ending. This wouldn't have been a problem had the characters sustained the story, as the ideas certainly make for a more interesting work that your average thriller. But this is a book written in the first person where the author is clearly far more intelligent than his central character. As a reader I understand the ideas and the depiction of vice and the flawed characters that inhabit this seedy world. As a protagonist Charles Prentice is astonishingly naive. I always feel unsettlingly detached from Ballard's characters, but in this case I also felt superior. It was this disbelief in the protagonist's actions throughout the story that prevented me from becoming personally implicated in what could have been an uncomfortable attack on certain aspects of advanced capitalism as experienced in daily life. Ballard is often classified as a sort of 'science-fiction' writer, in that he seeks to portray other possible realities or rather other versions of our own reality. The problem here is that I did not view this particular reality as 'possible'. There wasn't enough, particularly in the case of the protagonist, that I recognised.
