If you loved how The Atrocity Exhibition spliced medical notes, headlines, and clinical captions around Traven/Talbert’s car-crash tableaux and Kennedy re-enactments, you’ll sink right into House of Leaves. Its nested “reports,” film transcripts, and obsessive footnotes echo Ballard’s dossier-like texture, turning architecture and media into a psychosexual maze the way Ballard turns freeway interchanges and celebrity iconography into pathology.

The way Ballard’s brief sections build an eerie mosaic—crash sites, pop icons, and clinical aphorisms—finds a realist, razor-edged mirror in Speedboat. Adler’s shards of scenes, headlines, and tart observations stack into a psychological x‑ray of modern life, much like Ballard’s clipped captions anatomize desire amid billboards and disaster images.

If the scrambled sequencing of The Atrocity Exhibition—where the Traven/Tallis persona mutates as scenes recur—was part of the thrill, Hopscotch invites you to choose your reading path. Its “expendable” chapters create echo chambers of motif and obsession, much like Ballard’s recursive crash/celebrity matrices, rewarding you for pattern-hunting across discontinuities.

Ballard’s cool clinical tone applied to impossible scenarios—eroticized wrecks, media idols treated like surgical specimens—has a kinship with O’Brien’s straight-faced absurdities: atomic theory of bicycle-thieves, infinite roads, and a police station outside reason. Like Ballard’s Traven stalking psychosexual landscapes, the nameless narrator wanders a reality that obeys nightmare rules with chilling calm.

If you were drawn to the mordant wit in The Atrocity Exhibition—the cool, clinical captions that turn catastrophe and fetish into sardonic diagnosis—Naked Lunch pushes that black comedy into delirium. Its scenes of doctors, addicts, and bureaucrats refract vice through case-report language, much like Ballard’s morbid humor around celebrity, surgery, and staged collisions.