Of the many photographic challenges facing the still image, the subject matter of speed seems the most elusive. Not only must the shutter click at the perfect instant but the photo must convey rapid movement while suspended in time. It's a paradox that gets Swedish photographer Mikael Jansson revved up. In a new book of large-scale photographs, Speed of Life (Steidl; $95), he presents the gleaming world of Formula 1 racing in lush images collected from Monaco, São Paulo, and every circuit in between over the course of three years. Starting as an assistant to Richard Avedon, fashion photography's king, Jansson went on to shoot for Vogue in both America and Europe. The Grand Prix, then, presented a bit of a detour. "They are stolen moments, whereas in fashion everything is staged and controlled," Jansson, an avid F1 fan, says. "But it is shot through the lens of fashion, the way I like to see colors and shapes and a certain aesthetic." Needless to say, the 49-year-old photographer's take on motor sports does not reflect the beloved American pastime associated with swing voters and questionable haircuts. Instead there is an eerie beauty in these lightning-bolt compositions: the driver's lonely and crystalline gaze, the mesmerized sea of fans who look as if they're divining revelations, and the practiced movements of color-coded mechanics busying themselves like astronaut armies roaming a tar-covered planet. "The fascination is the way they look and move—their choreography, which happens in split seconds. Each person has a crucial function," Jansson explains. "I relate to that concentrated precision. If one of these men makes a mistake, it could cost the race." Here is a privileged glimpse at the inner workings of Formula 1 racing—including Michael Schumacher at the height of his reign in Indianapolis and crowds that make Shanghai look like Carnival—unencumbered by the usual demands of sports and advertising. Though Jansson plays with the neon logos plastered on every surface, his photos combine supersaturated Crayola hues with fields of view that are gray, blurred, or completely blacked out to indicate what has already sped past at more than 200 mph. You can almost smell the burning tire rubber and exhaust fumes. But the topic of speed begs for abstraction, and the quiet hysteria contained in these pages somehow reflects a cultural mood—one that lauds maximum efficiency and ever pits itself against the clock, all the while knowing that materialism, like life itself, is fleeting.

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