A man speeds along the highway in his fast, shiny Jag and has an accident, ending up on a _Concrete Island_ (by J.G. Ballard) between highways. The highway island is shielded from the view of would-be rescuers and the man doesn't seem to be able to escape its clutches. As the man begins to adjust to life on the island as a kind of a modern Robinson Crusoe, he realizes that he is not alone.

The more time that the man spends on the island, the more the island and its inhabitants become, or seem to become, extensions of his own rapidly deteriorating psyche. Ballard again demonstrates his fascination for the intersection of man with technology in his unique way. Though not a book for everyone, it might interest those who like their literature a bit off the wall.

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