It's a Tower Block Crisis

J. G. Ballard, High-rise, 1975
J. G. Ballard is a bit of a one-trick pony. Every novel I've read of his (and I've read quite a few) features the same type of characters going through the same type of breakdown, usually engineered by a powerful psychotic antagonist or a dystopic setting, with always a pessimistic end result. The Drowned World explored this in a planet where the polar caps melted; The Drought went the opposite way, thrusting the characters into a mad world with no water; Super-Cannes showed what happened when bored I.T. workers turned to a crazy guru; and with High-rise, Ballard's men and women turn a sophisticated high-rise into a savage jungle when their petty grievances push them into forming tribes.

Ballard's narrative is always so removed, creating the feeling that you are visiting a vision rather than reading a proper novel. His stories work better as nightmares, with their inevitable implausibilities - but fantastical imagery - rather than coherent narratives. It's hard to believe that over 2,000 people in a high-rise would agree to become cannibals and proto-humans rather than move out A.S.A.P. when the shit hit the fan. But if you ignore those little snags, it's actually a somewhat poetic reading experience. And I can't believe nobody has turned this novel into a film yet; it would translate beautifully onto the big screen.