An SF classic of noir paranoia, and an accessible introduction to PKD.
Philip K. Dick (1928 - 1982) is that rare thing - a science fiction writer and a household name. His favoured themes are associated so strongly with his work that the term “Dickian” is used to invoke them: paranoia, identity, and simulation. Yet it is often argued that without the film adaptation released four months after his death, Dick could have fallen into obscurity. But this isn’t about that film - it is about the landmark novel that inspired it, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? (1968).
By 1968, Dick had already published more than 20 novels and numerous short stories. He had explored extensively some of SF’s most favoured concepts, and Do Androids Dream returns to some of these. It is a story about robots, off-world colonies, and dystopia - but it deploys these elements in a distinctive new way. This is a cleverly disconcerting novel without easy answers, which challenges our notions about authenticity, empathy, and nature. It also plays fruitfully with the conventions of noir in a way that anticipates cyberpunk. It may be true that Dick would have remained an obscure figure in the general consciousness if Do Androids Dream had not been adapted for the screen. Even then, this one novel would secure him a key place in the SF canon.
By 1992 (or 2021 in some later editions of the novel), the Earth’s ecosystem has been irreparably damaged by a catastrophic war. Most animal species have been driven to extinction by fallout, and many humans have emigrated to off-world colonies, including on Mars. The state encourages emigration by promising a sophisticated android servant to each person who leaves Earth behind. Of those people that remain in an increasingly depopulated world, many are classified as “specials”, considered to be of low intelligence and restricted to menial jobs.
Rick Deckard lives in San Francisco, parts of which already resemble a crumbling ghost town. He has a failing marriage, a robot sheep that “lives” on his roof as a status symbol, and an unusual job. He is a bounty hunter for the San Francisco Police Department, tasked with hunting down and eliminating androids which have escaped servitude on the colonies and have fled to Earth. When his colleague Dave Holden is hospitalised in a confrontation with a formidable new Nexus-6 model android, Deckard is sent to finish off the group that Holden was tracking. If Deckard can “retire” the androids, he stands to earn a handsome bounty - one he could use to purchase a vanishingly rare, real live animal and elevate his social standing. Unfortunately, the new model so closely resembles a human being that it may even be able to pass the Voight-Kampff test that is meant to make this distinction. As the hunt goes on, Deckard descends into a fog of confusion and paranoia, as he struggles to make sense of his mission, his life, and the world.
Scrambled noir
The basic plot and tone of the novel have strong resonances with hardboiled detective fiction, and the film noir versions of those kinds of stories. Deckard is the classic cop figure, a solitary pursuer of outlaws, in this case led by the domineering android Roy Baty. Rachel Rosen is in the femme fatale role, an alluring android uniquely able to reside on Earth legally. J.R. Isidore is a special, a largely helpless victim figure who falls under the control of the fugitives. Like classic noir fiction, Dick’s novel revels in its sense of alienation, confusion, and moral greyness. Deckard is in a constant struggle to determine right from wrong, and to decide on his next course of action. His colleague Resch, also a bounty hunter, is for a time unable to tell whether he himself is an android. The increasingly deserted city of San Francisco, bereft of animal life, is a suitably alienating venue in which the plot plays out.
Authenticity and simulacra
In large part, the novel is a fascinating SF exploration of the concept of authenticity. In the opening chapter, Deckard and his wife discuss how best to use their “Penfield mood organ”, a device which allows them to programme their own feelings. This raises the question of to what extent these emotions are authentic, given that they are artificially provoked. Perhaps they are in some sense “fake”, but perhaps this is true of many of our own feelings today. Deckard’s life is defined by the borderline between authenticity and inauthenticity. Like many people, he owns a synthetic animal but covets the real thing. All owners of “electric” animals pretend that these substitutes are in fact genuine. Whole classes of society are involved in a mutual deception, to shore up their own social status. Perhaps Dick is suggesting that social status itself is a kind of deception, entered into willingly. The androids on Earth have no rights and are marked for death precisely because they are simulacra, they are not human beings. But Deckard finds that even with the Voight-Kampff test, he cannot necessarily make this supposedly important distinction. In this way, the novel thoroughly scrambles and complicates the notions of authenticity and personhood. Deckard’s confusion goes right to the core of his being - if androids essentially are human, then he is not a protector of the community, but a grubby killer for hire.
“The sphere of empathic identification”
Closely linked with the theme of authenticity is Dick’s exploration of empathy, which is critical to the novel. The Voight-Kampff test is essentially a gauge of empathy, and empathy is at the core of Mercerism, a neo-religion that is mediated by a virtual reality simulation (late in the novel, it is suggested that this simulation is fake on more than one level). The novel explicitly refers to “the sphere of empathic identification.” This describes the categories into which humans place other entities. They are either within the sphere, and therefore worthy of empathy, or outside the sphere, and therefore undeserving of empathy. Deckard’s whole worldview is predicated on the idea that humans are within the sphere, and androids are outside. Again, Dick ruthlessly complicates this. Deckard finds himself empathising with those he believes to be androids, and his colleague Resch finds himself lacking in empathy to the point where he suspects himself of being an android. Again, this has troubling implications for the real world, not just in 1968 but today. In the novel, androids and specials are brutally exploited and denied rights. In the real world, millions of people are exploited in similar ways, because society considers them outside the sphere of empathic identification. How else can we explain the persistence of poverty, exploitation, and suffering? If the capacity for genuine empathy is a precondition for humanity, then surely the behaviour of our leaders does not inspire confidence. If people can not take better care of each other and our environment, we may be on course for a world as ruined as Dick imagines, and without the benefit of off-world colonies to run to, nor sophisticated androids to exploit.
A genuine classic
Brian Aldiss captured the appeal of Do Androids Dream, describing it as “simply written but leaving all kinds of resonances in the mind.” This is exactly so. Dick’s novel is brisk and efficient, as thrilling as the outward shape of its plot implies. But it is also tremendously deep in philosophical terms, posing challenging questions that echo in the mind long after the final page. Published close to the exact midpoint of his career, this novel is a genuine classic written by a master at the height of his abilities.
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zozo chunky chicken
11/10/2024 07:31:18 pm
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