Butt, Amy

Central Archive at the University of Reading

Science fiction aesthetics Article Accepted Version Butt, A. (2017) Science fiction aesthetics. Drawing Matter. Available at http://centaur.reading.ac.uk/79107/ It is advisable to refer to the publisher’s version if you intend to cite from the work. Published version at: https://www.drawingmatter.org All outputs in CentAUR are protected by Intellectual Property Rights law, including copyright law. Copyright and IPR is retained by the creators or other copyright holders. Terms and conditions for use of this material are defined in the End User Agreement . www.reading.ac.uk/centaur CentAUR Central Archive at the University of Reading Reading’s research outputs onlineDrawing	Matter	 	 Amy	Butt	Images:	Craig	Dodd:	Cover	Art	for	J.G	Ballard	High	Rise,	Jonathan	Cape	UK	(1975)	Carlos	Ochagavia:	Cover	Art	for	J.G	Ballard	High	Rise,	Holt.	Reinhard	&	Winston	(1978)		“Their	real	opponent	was	not	the	residents	in	the	heights	far	above	them,	but	the	image	of	the	building	in	their	own	minds,	the	multiplying	layers	of	concrete	that	anchored	them	to	the	floor.”1		Throughout	JG	Ballard’s	novel	High	Rise,	this	image	of	the	building	weighs	heavily	on	its	inhabitants.	The	pressure	it	exerts	warps	their	social	structures	and	drives	them	to	trivial	savagery,	while	its	brutal	and	dehumanising	aspect	becomes	embedded	in	their	collective	psyche.	As	described	by	Ballard,	“their	behaviour	only	makes	sense	if	you	assume	they	want	this	apparent	descent	into	barbarism	…	the	environment	makes	possible	the	whole	set	of	unfolding	logics.”2			While	many	science	fiction	visions	of	the	city	explore	the	potential	strangeness	which	could	be	extrapolated	from	the	cities	of	the	present	day,	Ballard	reflects	this	gaze	inwards,	to	reveal	the	inherent	strangeness	within	our	existing	built	environment	and	provide	an	estranging	perspective	which	critiques	the	cities	currently	under	construction.	In	doing	so,	he	employs	the	techniques	of	cognitive	estrangement	identified	by	Darko	Suvin,	whereby	the	“mirror	is	a	crucible,”	3	reflecting	a	world	made	strange.		As	described	by	Jonathan	Taylor,	this	transformation	of	reality	is	used	to	explore	human	interaction	with	the	built	environment	which	acts	as	both	the	“expression	and	main	agent	of	change	in	human	subjectivity.”4	This	subjectivity	of	perspective	is	keenly	expressed	in	two	of	the	illustrations	which	accompanied	early	editions	of	the	novel,	which	use	surrealist	artistic	tropes	to	explore	the	inhabitant’s	perception	of	place,	their	image	of	the	building.5		The	cover	artwork	of	the	first	edition	of	High	Rise,	produced	by	Craig	Dodd,	establishes	the	primacy	of	the	building	in	the	imaginations	of	its	inhabitants	by	depicting	the	towers	in	glorious	isolation.	Its	close	cropping	cuts	out	all	extraneous	influences	or	hints	at	urban	context,	leaving	the	high-rise	and	its	inhabitants	dislocated	from	the	rest	of	society.	This	reflects	the	perception	of	the	residents	that	the	world	beyond	the	high-rise	has	gradually	become	irrelevant.	For	Wilder,	one	of	the	residents,	life	“away	from	the	apartment	was	almost	dreamlike	in	its	unreality…	the	only	real	events	in	his	life	were	those	taking	place	within	the	high-rise.”	6		This	omnipresence	is	reinforced	by	the	point	of	perspective,	we	look	up	at	these	buildings	from	below	placing	them	in	a	position	of	visual	dominance	over	the	viewer.	This	conveys	the	power	and	control	that	the	building	exerts	over	its	inhabitants	as	the	primary	agent	of	social	and	psychological	change.	There	is	a	striking	absence	of	signs	of	inhabitation	or	signs	of	human	agency,	creating	the	implication	that	the	high-rise	is	most	accurately	depicted	as	a	diagram	or	a	technological	object.	This	use	of	a	pencil	render	drawing	style	carries	with	it	the	impression	that	this	tower	is	more	an	architectural	ideal	than	a	built	reality,	an	image	of	a	building	uncluttered	by	the	lives	of	those	it	contains.	An	impression	that	is	reflected	by	the	inhabitants	in	the	novel,	for	whom,	“part	of	its																																																							1	J.G.	Ballard,	High-Rise	(London;	New	York:	Harper	Perennial,	2006),	58.	Italics	added	by	author	2	J.G.	Ballard,	quoted	in	Vivian	Vale	and	Andrea	Juno,	J.G.	Ballard	(San	Francisco,	Calif.;	Enfield:	V/Search	Publications,	1984),	162.	3	Darko	Suvin,	Metamorphoses	of	Science	Fiction:	On	the	Poetics	and	History	of	a	Literary	Genre	(Yale	University	Press,	1979),	5.	4	Jonathan	Taylor,	‘The	Subjectivity	of	the	near	Future:	Geographical	Imaginings	in	the	Work	of	J	G	Ballard’,	in	Lost	in	Space:	Geographies	of	Science	Fiction,	2002,	92.	5	For	an	examination	of	the	historical	and	literary	context	of	surrealist	or	abstract	sf	art	see:	Gary	Westfahl,	‘Artists	in	Wonderland:	Toward	a	True	History	of	Science	Fiction	Art’,	in	Unearthly	Visions:	Approaches	to	Science	Fiction	and	Fantasy	Art,	ed.	Gary	Westfahl,	George	Edgar	Slusser,	and	Kathleen	Church	Plummer	(Greenwood	Press,	2002).	6	Ballard,	High-Rise,	60.		Drawing	Matter	 	 Amy	Butt	appeal	lay	all	too	clearly	in	the	fact	that	this	was	an	environment	built,	not	for	man,	but	for	man’s	absence.”	7		The	illustrated	building	itself	is	reminiscent	of	Erno	Goldfinger’s	Balfron	tower,	which	has	been	noted	as	a	possible	source	of	inspiration	for	Ballard8.	By	drawing	on	the	visual	language	of	modernism	with	strip	windows	and	exposed	structure,	and	alluding	to	this	particular	building,	this	cover	specifically	locates	the	novel	as	a	response	to	modernist	high-rise	developments.	It	also	reflects	the	complexity	of	critique	within	the	novel,	the	unresolved	conflict	between	the	noble	utopian	social	intent	embodied	within	the	high-rise	form,	and	the	subsequent	popular	narrative	of	dystopian	failure	apparently	evidenced	through	material	and	social	decay.		But	the	sense	of	relative	reality	established	by	this	a	concrete	reference	to	the	built	is	surreally	subverted,	as	the	tower	appears	to	have	been	torn	apart	with	the	areas	of	sky	visible	through	the	absent	floors.	In	this	wrenching	detachment	from	ground	level	the	image	expresses	the	inhabitant’s	own	radical	detachment	from	life	outside	the	high-rise,	literally	cutting	loose	from	the	social	rules	which	govern	life	below.	The	jagged	edges	of	these	tears	are	testament	to	the	violence	of	this	extraction,	the	breakdown	of	the	structure	expressing	and	enabling	the	breakdown	of	the	society	and	the	individuals,	it	contains.		The	1978	illustration	by	Carlos	Ochagavia	has	a	similar	visual	style,	with	the	psychological	dominance	of	the	high-rise	made	more	all	the	more	apparent	by	the	framing	of	the	image	within	the	text.	Thus,	the	abstract	idea	of	the	‘high-rise’,	its	expression	as	an	ideal	term	rather	than	a	real	place,	controls	and	constrains	our	perspective	on	the	world	it	contains.	This	notion	of	control	is	reinforced	by	the	isolation	of	the	towers	within	the	landscape.	In	the	novel,	the	towers	are	surrounded	by	suburban	streets	but	these	are	replaced	in	this	illustration	by	an	unending	featureless	landscape,	a	haze	of	ground	and	sky.	This	conveys	the	perception	of	the	inhabitants	that	the	world	outside	has	ceased	to	exist,	what	they	refer	to	as	“the	erosion	of	the	world	around	the	high-rise.”	9			At	a	glance,	the	destruction	of	the	foreground	tower	reiterates	this	experience	of	erosion.	It	appears	streaked	with	smoke,	consumed	by	a	flame	of	brown	and	gold,	reflecting	the	violence	and	destruction	which	consumes	its	inhabitants.	On	closer	examination,	the	smoke	clears	to	reveal	a	rock	face	complete	with	cave	dwellings,	directly	depicting	the	multiple	references	to	the	building	as	a	cliff	in	the	novel,	“this	overpriced	cell,	slotted	almost	at	random	into	the	cliff	face	of	the	apartment	building.”	10		Here,	the	edges	between	formal	rationalism	and	the	rough-cast	rock	face	are	indistinct,	the	two	forms	of	dwelling	and	the	two	implied	states	of	human	development	are	overlaid	and	interchangeable.	In	the	High-Rise,	the	veneer	of	civilisation	can	be	stripped	back	to	reveal	the	barbaric	tribal	self,	the	cave	dweller	who	lurks	beneath.			These	depictions	of	the	inhabitant’s	own	perception	of	the	building	and	redraws	the	reality	of	the	high-rise	in	their	own	terms.	In	these	illustrations,	as	in	many	of	Ballard’s	novels,	we	are	offered	a	glimpse	into	the	“inner-space”	of	the	human	psyche11.	As	described	by	David	Pringle,	“almost	literally,	delineating	an	inner	landscape,	a	terrain	of	the	soul	which	has	been	brought	into	existence	by	modern	technology.”12																																																									7	Ibid.,	25.		8	See	for	example:	Ed	Frith,	‘“Is	It	Burning	yet?”:	The	Buildings	Behind	J	G	Ballard’s	Writing’,	Architects	Journal,	April	2009,	http://www.architectsjournal.co.uk/is-it-burning-yet-the-buildings-behind-j-g-ballards-writing/5200708.fullarticle.	and	Andrzej	Ga̧siorek,	J.G.	Ballard,	Contemporary	British	Novelists	(Manchester;	New	York:	Manchester	University	Press;	Palgrave,	2005),	108.	9	Ballard,	High-Rise,	35.		10	Ibid.,	7.		11	J.	G.	Ballard,	‘Which	Way	to	Inner	Space?’,	in	New	Worlds	Science	Fiction,	ed.	John	Carnell,	vol.	40,	118	(London:	Nova	Publications	Ltd,	1962),	118.	12	David	Pringle,	Earth	Is	the	Alien	Planet:	J.	G.	Ballard’s	Four-Dimensional	Nightmare	(Borgo	Press,	1979),	11.	Drawing	Matter	 	 Amy	Butt	In	doing	so,	these	illustrations	express	the	underlying	architectural	critique	of	the	novel,	not	of	the	built	reality	of	high-rise	towers	themselves	as	a	formal	architectural	type,	but	a	critique	of	their	perception.	An	extrapolated	and	exaggerated	warning	about	the	version	of	humanity	which	might	be	unleashed	in	perceived	spaces	of	radical	social	isolation	and	technological	detachment.	These	fears	made	concrete	in	a	space	which	physically	removes	the	inhabitants	from	social	and	psychological	constraint,	and	“for	the	first	time	(it)	removed	the	need	to	repress	every	kind	of	anti-social	behaviour,	and	left	them	free.”	13																																																										13	Ballard,	High-Rise,	36.		

Science fiction aesthetics

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Science fiction aesthetics

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