M John Harrison - The End Of Everything

I've just finished M. John Harrison's The End of Everything, which is the third book from this year's Booker Prize longlist that I've made my way through. This is actually the second time I've read it, and the second time I've tried to sit down and write something coherent about it. I read it back in June, before I had any idea it would end up longlisted, and I wasn't sure how I felt about it then. I'm not sure I'm much clearer now, if I'm honest, but a second read has at least helped me figure out roughly where I stand. It's a weird book. I don't just mean that as a vague descriptor, either. It feels very much like it's sitting in conversation with the New Weird of the late nineties and early 2010s - your Vandermeers, your Miévilles - but run through a JG Ballard filter. I like that combination. I like weird fiction, I like the New Weird, I like Ballard. But it does mean the book feels rooted in a very particular moment rather than like something new. If you'd told me this was…