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Five people die in an unexplained housefire in the Spanish resort of Estrella de Mar, an exclusive enclave for the rich, retired British, centred around the thriving Club Nautico. The manager of the club, Frank Prentice, pleads guilty to charges of murder - yet not even the police believe him. When his brother Charles arrives to unravel the truth, he gradually discovers that behind the resort's civilised facade lurks a secret world of crime, drugs and illicit sex...
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Late period Ballard saw him once again visit the psychologies and psychopathies of enclosed communities like that of High Rise, but this time out in the wider world. In this case the somnolent Ex-Pat communities of the Spanish Costa del Sol.
Arriving in the small town of Estrella de Mar, Charles Prentice is there to save his brother, Frank, who has confessed to the horrific fire that killed five people in their villa. Prentice is convinced of Frank's innocence and starts his own investigation into the fire, along the way meeting the supremely confident young tennis coach Bobby Crawford, the uptight doctor Paula Hamilton, the psychiatrist Dr Sanger and numerous other denizens of this strange enclave in the Spanish sun.
What starts as a Ballardian Agatha Christie novel morphs into something far darker as Ballard's usual obsessions seep into the narrative: sex, drugs, the essential nature of humanity and its need for violence. Prentice is caught under the spell of Crawford, who seems to have his finger in so many of the transgressive behaviours that occur in Estrella de Mar and Frank's plight is pushed into the background as Charles settles into the community. Eventually he's persuaded to take over the running of the failed Sports Club in the nearby community of Residencia Costasol, a place where the residents are so numbed that they never leave their villas, tranquillised, medicated and in thrall to satellite television. It's a living Hell which Crawford, with Prentice's aid, seeks to wake from its slumbers.
The denouement is not entirely unexpected, but shocking nonetheless in its matter-of-factness.
Ballard can sometimes be a bit heavy handed with the metaphors and symbolism, but in Cocaine Nights he finds the right balance again and this is one of his finest novels.
“I understand...vaguely. What's the subject of these films?”
“Life in the Residencia. What else? There's a kind of amnesia at work here - an amnesia of self. People literally forget who they are. The camera lens needs to be their memory.”