Kerans's sublime sense of connection with the greater universe is a motif in the novel, particularly in moments when he is near death. Ballard uses imagery to emphasize death as a kind of return or reincorporation with the natural world. For example, in Chapter 14, Kerans feels as though the sun is flaring eternally outward from within his morphine-induced dreams:
Just before dawn, when the pain became unbearable, he took one of the morphine tablets and fell off into a loud, booming sleep, in which the great sun expanded until it filled the entire universe, the stars themselves jolted by each of its beats.
Kerans is dying from an infection that he can only treat with painkillers. In this passage, he is alone and drifting southwards on his boat. As soon as the morphine knocks him out, he hears the "loud, booming" drums that have been haunting him in his dreams, drawing him back through the "time jungles." Inside this "loud, booming sleep," the sun begins to grow larger "until it fill[s] the entire universe." The climate disaster that has created the drowned world was induced by solar flares, and Ballard has repeatedly described the murderous, misshapen sun that Kerans watches on the horizon each morning. In his dying sleep, Kerans feels as though the solar flares are coming not from a distant horizon, but rather from within him. He is burning and shaking the entire universe, including the stars themselves.
This passage might be mistaken for a dream about overpowering the universe, if not for earlier examples of this type of surreal imagery. In Chapter 9, Kerans experiences a similar sense of expansiveness when he is swimming in the old planetarium:
He lay back, spreadeagled across the steps, his hand pressed numbly against the loop of line around the door handle, the soothing pressure of the water penetrating his suit so that the barriers between his own private blood-stream and that of the giant amnion seemed no longer to exist. The deep cradle of silt carried him gently like an immense placenta, infinitely softer than any bed he had ever known.
In this example, Kerans feels none of the power and destruction of the flaring sun. Still, the "soothing pressure of the water" creates a similar sense of unity with his atmosphere. In this case, he feels "his own private blood-stream" diffusing with the water around him, so that he dissolves into the "giant amnion" of ocean where he is "cradled." Ballard's extended metaphor between the water and a uterus allows him to emphasize the gentle comfort Kerans derives from the softness of the silt and the viscosity of the water through which he is drifting. Kerans begins to imagine himself not only as a recipient of this comfort, but also as part of the nurturing organ. He feels as though his death in this moment could be a gift to evolution, nurturing new life into existence.
By the time Kerans is dying on his boat and imagining himself as a solar flare, he has forgiven nature for killing humanity. He is not striking back at the stars in revenge. Rather, he is offering himself to the cycle of destruction and rebirth that he understands as the natural order of the universe. His mission is no longer to to save himself or anything else from climate change, but instead to help the floods and solar flares along.
Allusions to music, art, and art history are a motif in the novel. One rich example occurs in Chapter 10, when Strangman summons Kerans, Beatrice, and Bodkin to a dinner party for which he has decorated with an array of plundered art surrounding a giant Renaissance painting:
Its title was ‘The Marriage of Ester and King Xerxes’, but the pagan treatment and the local background of the Venetian lagoon and the Grand Canal palazzos, coupled with the Quinquecento décor and costume, made it seem more like ‘The Marriage of Neptune and Minerva’, no doubt the moral Strangman intended to point. King Xerxes...seemed completely tamed by his demure, raven-haired Ester, who had a faint but none the less perceptible likeness to Beatrice. As he cast his eye over the crowded spread of the canvas...Kerans suddenly saw another familiar profile—the face of Strangman...—but when he approached the painting the similarity vanished.
In the Bible, Esther is the adopted daughter of a Jewish man named Mordecai. She marries the Persian King Xerxes, a "pagan" (i.e. a Muslim, in this context). When Mordecai refuses to bow before any ruler except God, Xerxes's adviser Haman tries to have all the Jews sentenced to death. Esther saves her people by appealing to her husband on their behalf. There are several Renaissance paintings of Esther and Xerxes, though none with the exact name Kerans mentions.
Kerans is also slightly off in naming Houasse's "Dispute of Neptune and Minerva." This French painting depicts the two Greek gods' mythical fight to become the namesake for Athens. In the myth, Neptune loses the bid and floods the city in anger. The painting uses light and dark contrast to play up the divide between the two gods, depicting Neptune and the flooding Earth in dark colors beneath light clouds cradling Athena and several other Olympians.
Kerans thinks that Strangman has deliberately juxtaposed the art and artifacts of various European and Middle Eastern cultures in much the same way that Houasse juxtaposes "dark" Neptune and "light" Athena. The contrast emphasizes the culture clash at the center of Esther and Xerxes's marriage—and at the center of Beatrice, Kerans, and Strangman's love triangle. Beatrice is a "demure" Esther poised to marry Kerans, preserving not only humanity but also the European culture they both appreciate. Strangman is uninterested in cultural preservation. He wants a new, vicious world where the best scavengers survive. He lurks in the background like Haman or Neptune, waiting to seize Beatrice and wreak havoc on Kerans's world.
Neptune's flood is an apt metaphor for what happens to art over the course of the novel. Kerans starts out with a surprisingly deep knowledge and appreciation of European art history. He can recognize and contextualize paintings and symphonies he has never encountered in a museum or concert hall. However, as the temperature rises, he becomes more preoccupied with a drumming noise that beats louder and louder in his imagination, anticipating and echoing the bongos played by Strangman's pirate crew. His encyclopedic expertise in European art is gradually "drowned out" by the drums. (For instance, he begins mixing up the names of paintings.) It is as though not only a warmer climate, but also the influx of Black pirates, stolen art, and African music tumbles Kerans's sense of European art history into chaos, until it is no longer preservable. He eventually drowns the city all over again with water. He would prefer to destroy all the art rather than allow it to be decontextualized, stolen, and, in his view, cheapened.
Kerans's sublime sense of connection with the greater universe is a motif in the novel, particularly in moments when he is near death. Ballard uses imagery to emphasize death as a kind of return or reincorporation with the natural world. For example, in Chapter 14, Kerans feels as though the sun is flaring eternally outward from within his morphine-induced dreams:
Just before dawn, when the pain became unbearable, he took one of the morphine tablets and fell off into a loud, booming sleep, in which the great sun expanded until it filled the entire universe, the stars themselves jolted by each of its beats.
Kerans is dying from an infection that he can only treat with painkillers. In this passage, he is alone and drifting southwards on his boat. As soon as the morphine knocks him out, he hears the "loud, booming" drums that have been haunting him in his dreams, drawing him back through the "time jungles." Inside this "loud, booming sleep," the sun begins to grow larger "until it fill[s] the entire universe." The climate disaster that has created the drowned world was induced by solar flares, and Ballard has repeatedly described the murderous, misshapen sun that Kerans watches on the horizon each morning. In his dying sleep, Kerans feels as though the solar flares are coming not from a distant horizon, but rather from within him. He is burning and shaking the entire universe, including the stars themselves.
This passage might be mistaken for a dream about overpowering the universe, if not for earlier examples of this type of surreal imagery. In Chapter 9, Kerans experiences a similar sense of expansiveness when he is swimming in the old planetarium:
He lay back, spreadeagled across the steps, his hand pressed numbly against the loop of line around the door handle, the soothing pressure of the water penetrating his suit so that the barriers between his own private blood-stream and that of the giant amnion seemed no longer to exist. The deep cradle of silt carried him gently like an immense placenta, infinitely softer than any bed he had ever known.
In this example, Kerans feels none of the power and destruction of the flaring sun. Still, the "soothing pressure of the water" creates a similar sense of unity with his atmosphere. In this case, he feels "his own private blood-stream" diffusing with the water around him, so that he dissolves into the "giant amnion" of ocean where he is "cradled." Ballard's extended metaphor between the water and a uterus allows him to emphasize the gentle comfort Kerans derives from the softness of the silt and the viscosity of the water through which he is drifting. Kerans begins to imagine himself not only as a recipient of this comfort, but also as part of the nurturing organ. He feels as though his death in this moment could be a gift to evolution, nurturing new life into existence.
By the time Kerans is dying on his boat and imagining himself as a solar flare, he has forgiven nature for killing humanity. He is not striking back at the stars in revenge. Rather, he is offering himself to the cycle of destruction and rebirth that he understands as the natural order of the universe. His mission is no longer to to save himself or anything else from climate change, but instead to help the floods and solar flares along.