Arthur began to pump. “If it hurts or anything, wiggle your hand,” he said.
Stanley’s top half began to swell. Stanley got bigger and bigger. His pyjama buttons burst off…
We’re talking about an industry dedicated to selling devices for maiming and killing people. Our government (whoever they fuck they are this week) actively promotes this industry with public money. An industry built around selling ever increasing amounts of techno-masturbatory metallic death to anyone who’ll buy (and lets face it, the expanding markets for “devices designed to tear people apart” don’t tend to be peaceful, affluent regions). They’re dedicated to making more sales and making more money, as if they were peddling soup, sex-toys or sherbet fucking dib-dabs. This, for me, is the reason why sentences like “Why bother?” and “Do you really think you can stop the arms trade?” don’t even qualify as meaningful questions. The sane, human response to those who knowingly profit from peddling this misery and suffering should not be “considered”, “reasonable” or “balanced”. Fuck that. If you don’t feel it in your gut then you badly need to recalibrate your “giving a shit” module.
The Levels is kinetic, hypnotic stuff, an ultra modern and timely crime novel set in an unforgettable kind of postmodern hell. Sean Cregan has the style and the descriptive force to make this book work as both an adrenaline soaked thriller and a metaphor for a modernity gone horribly wrong.
Steve Jobs Offers World ‘Freedom From Porn’