At a base level, a novel about people sexually fascinated with car crashes. At a more philosophical level, an exploration of this hypothetical deviancy, and of identity in the modern technological society.
The book has an interesting idea, and the initial setting is beautifully grotesque, imagining the society we live in as a kind of H. R. Gieger painting, with machines being an extension of the human essence, and sexuality collapsing into pain in the limit of a sensory implosion.
Unfortunately, the book doesn’t develop the idea much beyond the first few chapters, and spends the rest of its time repeating the idea. There’s only so many sexual scenes involving cars that are worth reading with no other plot development.