On reality

I have been to talks by several illustrious scribblers in the last few weeks, but the one thing that really stuck in my mind was something JG Ballard said. Life is a fiction. What we see out there is just an illusion. He said that he realised this when he saw Shanghai being ripped apart overnight, night after night. He spoke of apartment blocks which had had slices severed off. It was like looking into a giant dolls house. You could see the furniture, the kitchen, the living room; all left suspended in the moment that their occupiers left.

Is this the real world, or is this just fantasy, said a wise man, I forget who.