Philip K. Dicks work exist on a spectrum, I've found. On the one hand, there's his early work, which is a combination of hard-boiler pulp stories and Asimov's gee-shucks, boy's own adventure type of wonder sci-fi. Then the sixties happened, and after enough LSD to make a sperm whale pick up the sitar, he let go of any sort of well-structured plot and wrote loosely, funnily, and still very sexist. This book is that.
— Jul 28, 2018 03:11PM
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