Dear Mr. Ballard,

I seriously regret not reading one of your books whilst you were still alive. That copy of Empire of the Sun hovered, like a tantalising book-beacon, in my line of vision every time I inspected the shelves of the 'teen' section. I was going to get around to it, honest, but this proved too good to ignore, and as soon as I turned the middle page of the book some young whipersnapper done bought your masterpiece. The cheek.

Anyway, I never realised how influential you actually were until, the day before your death, I talked about you with my dad in Borders. You're a damn, damn cool guy. I just wish that I'd got the chance to tell you, somehow. You struggled long and hard, you crazy dystopian bastard. I'm sure, when I do get round to Super-Cannes or Crash or The Atrocity Exhibition or the other ones, that I'll be grateful you were around to write them.


RIP

xxX