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Philip K. Dick Enters The Library of America Can this be for real? Have I entered some alternative universe? Do I actually see the pulp sci-fi novels of Philip K. Dick infiltrating the distinguished shelf of classics published by The Library of America? Yes, there it is, “DICK” emblazoned across the discreet black background, with red, white and blue trim - sitting between James Fenimore Cooper and John Dos Passos. What planet am I on? Yes, this feels like a scene in one of Dick’s alternative reality novels, where somehow history (lit history in this case) gets re-written and all familiar guidelines disappear into the fifth dimension. But Dick’s arrival in the pantheon of American novelists is no sudden plot twist. No American writer has seen such a dramatic turnaround in reputation over the last half century. But the shift has happened gradually, fueled by the interest of film-makers (Ridley, Scott, John Woo, Paul Verhoeven), younger writers (most notably Jonathan Lethem, who edits the Dick volume for The Library of America), and a growing cadre of fans and admirers. Today, the film rights to a Dick short story can bring in close to $2 million to the author’ s estate. But during his lifetime, Dick was so poor he bought horsemeat from a pet shop for dinner. His drug habit — Dick would pop pills by the dozens — also ate into his income, and fed his paranoia and psychotic episodes. As a result, Dick churned out novels and tales in mad rush to stay financially afloat, and set down the visionary images and concepts of his over- heated imagination. His fervor resulted in a oeuvre of 44 published novels, countless short stories, and (most intimidating of all) his so-called Exegisis, some 8,000 pages of journal writings, documenting his mental strife, visions and metaphysical speculations. Even his best known books, including the four novels featured in The Library of America collection, reflect the haste with which they were written. Dick’s prose is often lackluster, his plot lines full of holes, his characters as flat as a cardboard cutout. Why, one might ask, do such works merit recognition as American classics? But Dick does matter – perhaps even more now than during his lifetime. He showed a different way of responding to the growing awareness that reality in literature (and life) is problematic. While other writers retreated into word games and an exploration of “discourses" (to use the fashionable term for this linguistic approach), Dick accepted the challenge head-on. If reality was constructed, confused and beset by issues, Dick would try to map the maze, especially the most labyrinthine corners of it. His books revolve around one grand truth: namely, that things are not what they seem. The idea is a simple one, but Dick builds it into grand superstructures of ontology and epistemology translated into sci-fi narratives. In Ubik, the reader is still uncertain halfway through the novel whether the main protagonists are alive or dead. (See how many students in Creative Writing 101 can pull that off!). In The Man in the High Castle, we shift into an alternative universe in which World War II turned out differently. In Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? and The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldrich, we explore the foundation of religious beliefs and the nature of human existence, but in fanciful ways never anticipated by the philosophers. Today we see both serious fiction and popular culture moving in the same directions that Dick so brilliantly explored in his writings. Even when he is not listed in the credits or acknowledgements, Dick’s influence is palpable. Films as different as The Matrix and The Truman Show reflect distinctive Dick twists in their storylines. Recent novels by Michael Chabon and Philip Roth also build from an “alternative reality” version of World War II that is very much in the spirit of Dick’s work. The Library of America volume offers a excellent introduction to this visionary writer. Jonathan Lethem is the ideal editor for this work, although I am disappointed that he did not write a lengthy introduction for the volume (or at least include his great essay “You Don’t Know Dick” – with its answering opening line: “Not like I know Dick.”) Let’s also hope that the publisher follows up with Dick’s later novels, including his unfairly neglected Valis trilogy, which ranks among the finest experimental works of fiction of its era. In short, with some 50 books to his credit, Dick cannot be appreciated in a single gulp. But if you haven’t yet experienced the mind- expanding writings of this seminal author, The Library of America collection is the right place to start. But be forewarned: once you let Dick into your head, things will never seem the same again. This review originally appeared on Blogcritics. |