Intermittently convincing.
What impressed me:
1. The engine is a second sun, giving us a new kind of light by which we see. As we accelerate down the road, the engine hurries more and more of the world to us. We are seeing more, though our vision is distorted, compressed by the vehicle's speed.
2. The "pure destination" annihilates departure. The ambition of speed at its ultimate extreme is a state of ceaseless arrival, with no ability to quit arriving. As addressed below, I think Virilio overstates the mechanical possibilities of this state, but as a mental condition of our lives, it seems quite correct. There are so few periods in the day in which something is not constantly being attained.
3. The screen replaces the mirror--or becomes a site of equal importance.
4. If speed offers its own kind of light by bringing the world increasingly within our horizon, albeit in a compressed and distorted way, the increased speed with which information is delivered means a corresponding massive increase in light. However, with an increase of speed in information delivery, not only is information more fresh but also paradoxically sooner obsolete: new information floods in behind the information of moments ago, superseding it. This torrential flow is dazzlingly confusing--too much light means we can no longer see by it.
Some problems:
1. These observations comprise only a small part of Negative Horizon. Many essays in the book are not the least persuasive. Others would mean more more if Virilio was using them to say less. The section on the overland speed record is a great example. Virilio wants to extrapolate out from this quixotic pursuit a larger statement about our relationship with the automobile and speed. But efforts toward the overland speed record are so obviously exceptional and unlike anything to do with your morning commute that his argument-by-assertion style feels dangerously lightweight and risks charlatanism.
2. One thing overlooked: how old-fashioned fighter jets are! How old-fashioned fast cars are! They are so greasy and mechanical--Virilio ignores how heavy these vehicles are, how immensely limitingly much energy is required to power them, how little we have advanced in human transport in recent decades. He has everything approaching infinite speeds, and perhaps it is--but not in cars and not in airplanes. For all these reasons, the warping effect of the car is not an approach to the infinite but instead a toddler's dementia--the dream of the infinite in an individually dangerous yet sharply circumscribed box.