Violation

by Ken Russell

A disturbing novel of the future, in which Great Britain's obsession for the 'Beautiful Game' has led the repressive authorities to enforce it as the official religion. In fact, all other faiths have been banned, and heretics - together with all other criminal elements - have been deported to the National Penal Colony, formerly known as the Isle of Wight. On the mainland there is full employment, owing to the Government's policy of W.O.S - 'Work or Starve.' Free speech is frowned upon, so when a voice of protest is heard crying from the wilderness, the 'Preacher' is immediately branded as a wanted man. Ordered to hunt him down is Jette Black, a sexy captain in the dreaded Sports Police. A succession of wild and exciting encounters follows, by the end of which the cruel, cool chick begins to question her adversary's identity. Is he Christ or the Anti-Christ? Her mind races, as the end of the world draws nigh...

260 pages, Paperback

First published December 19, 2005

About the author

The filmmaker, not the author of IQ Tests.

Ken Russell tried several professions, before choosing to become a film director.He was a still photographer a dancer and even served in the army, but it was film that was to be Mr. Russell's destiny. He began by making several short films, and those paved the way for his brilliant television films of the sixties that are acclaimed for his attention to detail and opulent visuals. His third feature film Women in Love (1969) was a triumph and he became an internationally known filmmaker. In the 1970s his talent truly blossomed, over the next 2 decades he would direct a succession of remarkable films most of them contained his trademark flamboyance that critics generally dismiss but many seem to find this engrossing.He will forever be remembered as a controversial and visionary artist with something of a third eye when it comes to making oddball dramas that have captivating images and themes.

Reviews

[Alex Sarll]

Britain, 2030: a repressive surveillance state which, about 15 years earlier, opted to cut itself off from the world. Football is the mandatory state religion. Gods help us, if Ken Russell, of all people, predicted this timeline 20 years ago, shouldn't it at least be a bit more fun? But I am, of course, cherrypicking ever so slightly: yes, music is now voice-activated, but video cassettes are still ubiquitous, and there's no sign of the internet, although that's probably the logical endpoint of current government policy. Similarly, Russell can't seem to decide from one chapter to the next whether his future regime is green-minded or aggressively destructive of the environment – but hey, nor can Labour! In fact, the worldbuilding in general s slipshod to the max. In the unlikely instance you've ever read Tits-Out Teenage Terror Totty by Steven Wells, or anything else from his short-lived Attack! Books (not counting the Stewart Home one, which obviously was shit because it was Stewart Home, though in some ways had the most thematic overlap with Violation), then you should have some idea what to expect: gleeful transgression, manic energy, a world that's there to be blown up and to cock a snook at the Man more than to make sense. But, and I never thought I'd say this, Attack! books gave us more consistent characterisation in more solid settings, with at least a vague sense that someone had read them back between authorial splurge and publication. Also, scabrous and gory as they delighted in being, I'm not sure any of them had a scene to rival the death by revenge pegging here. Also, they were half the length. But the real problem is that Russell, from his early BBC documentaries through the pomp of pop videos and Hollywood to his late garden oddities, had a stunning visual imagination, but judging from this, was really not a great prose writer. There's a phenomenon for which I don't think a vocabulary quite exists where sometimes, even if someone thinks they're in on the crapness of a joke, actually they're not in on enough layers and the joke is still on them. Russell the novelist is a prime example. On screen, I'm sure I would have been at least somewhat won over by the phantasmagoric journey of sexy Sports Police captain Jette Black as she follows the possible Second Coming to giant prison camp Oz 2 (of course Ken Russell watched Oz), formerly known as the Isle of Wight. But on the page, it's pure Marenghi, in a horribly fascinating but really not a good way. And I don't just mean that Jette Black is indeed dark-skinned; there's even a scene where she's glad she only had time for a sip.