I decided to re-read Philip K. Dick's Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? (1968) because I could barely remember it (I remembered the basic plot and that Deckard climbs a hill at some point: the significance of this ascent eluded me). My younger self was amazed by the novel: I was only just starting to read avidly then, and it was my first PKD novel. I've read a lot since then (including 9 more PKD novels), and become a lot more critical of what I read.
From the opening paragraph I guessed that I wasn't going to be as impressed this time:
'A merry little surge of electricity piped by automatic alarm from the mood organ beside his bed awakened Rick Deckard. Surprised - it always surprised him to find himself awake without prior notice - he rose from the bed, stood up in his multicoloured pyjamas, and stretched. Now, in her bed, his wife Iran opened her gray, unmerry eyes, blinked, then groaned and shut her eyes again.'
However, I still enjoyed it and rate it highly as a PKD novel: it's not up there with A Scanner Darkly (1977) or VALIS (1981) - both of these are based on Dick's personal experiences, and so are far more personal and emotionally involving works - but I still consider it one of his best. If you can forgive the terrible prose, the ideas and plot make an engaging read.
PKD's work invites analysis and exegesis: his ideas and imagery are interesting and compelling, but suffer from often not being developed into entirely satisfying stories. Do Android's Dream...? is a very important and influential novel in the canon of stories exploring What is human? and What makes a fake fake? (other notable examples from this canon are R.U.R. (1920) by Karel Capek, the play from which we get the word 'robot', and Battlestar Galactica (2004-2009), etc). Fakery abounds in the novel: there's mood organs, which allow characters to artificially control their emotions; there's Deckard's electric sheep, munching grass on the rooftop; and, of course, there's the androids, the fake humans.
A comparison is made between the androids and the 'specials' (people who have been damaged by radiation exposure). The former - 'great intellect, ability to accomplish much, but also this [coldness]' - are hunted down as a danger to humanity, and are identified by failing an empathy test. The latter - fully empathic - are banned from reproducing or leaving Earth ('a menace to the pristine heredity of the race... ceased, in effect, to be part of mankind'), and are identified by failing genetic and IQ tests. The androids are getting so close to the real thing that the empathy test is the only remaining way to tell them apart, but it's implied early on that certain humans, psychopaths, could fail the empathy test, leading to their execution. The specials have been dehumanized by their society, perceived as having lost their humanity through radiation damage, but they have retained (perhaps even increased) their empathy.
Mood organ allows people to alter their emotions artificially, yet this fakery is accepted and normal: why not the artificial emotions of the androids? Why not their fear, anger, and ambition? The artificial animals even look ill when they break (''disease' circuits built in... when a primary component misfired, the whole thing appeared - not broken - but organically ill'), and require as much care as real animals. When does the fake become reality? What traits make a human human? Is the distinction between real and fake simply part of our shared imagination, our human desire to categorize? What's so bad about the fakes? (I am reminded of art forgeries: specifically the tale of the Nazi who found out all his great art was forged, and was heartbroken - if anyone can remember the full details of this story, please help me out). Etc, etc, Dickian mindfuckery, analysis, exegesis, etc, etc. Fun book.
PKD's stories frequently contain religious themes: from the simple Platonic-Gnostic allusions in The Penultimate Truth (1964) through the spiritual conflict and shared hallucinations of The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch (1965) we come to Mercerism and its conflict with the TV presenter Buster Friendly in Do Androids Dream...? From here Dick went on to invent a fictional theology in A Maze of Death (1970) and then went full gnostic after a mental breakdown/divine revelation in 1974, an experience explored in his VALIS trilogy: VALIS, The Divine Invasion (1981), and The Transmigration of Timothy Archer (1982).
(In The Penultimate Truth most humans live underground in nuclear bunkers, convinced by propaganda videos that a colossal war is occurring on the surface; but there is no war, the world is at peace: the ruling elite are working together to keep the masses controlled and afraid. The Three Stigmata... is about the rivalry between two companies selling rival escapist drugs: one which grants shared hallucinations between users, the other gives the user a private hallucination so vivid that it cannot be distinguished from reality.)
Mercerism is a religion of the shared experience of suffering: it enhances empathy, making its adherents more concerned about their fellow men. Buster Friendly and His Friendly Friends provide simple entertainment and distraction, giving the sad people of Earth the illusion of friendship and warmth. The dualism here is an improved subtilised version of the earlier spiritual conflict in The Three Stigmata..., and does not take center-stage in the plot. (It was completely omitted from the film adaptation.)
The plot is fairly well sustained to the end: it is ambiguous on some fronts, but satisfying enough overall: the protagonist has developed, his life and world has changed, etc. I have a tendency to dislike Dick's endings: Ubik (1969), A Maze of Death, and Flow My Tears, The Policeman Said (1974) each have annoying endings. The first two can be forgiven: they have been very influential, have been absorbed into SF to such an extent that the originals can feel tacky. Flow My Tears..., however, I will not forgive: it starts off so promising, the plot-train gliding along at a pleasant pace; then parts start to fall off and are left behind; it rattles and shakes, suggesting hasty ill-planned construction; and then derails, smashing into the ground. As you crawl out from the flaming wreckage and look upon the ruined carriages that promised a fascinating destination, you regret boarding in the first place.
