David Bowie: A Life - Dylan Jones (2017)

 

Rating: Excellent

I've read so many biographical Bowie books in the past that I never thought I'd read another one again, however when A Life was published in the year after Bowie's death I kept on reading parts of it each time I went to the book store. I resisted buying it, but then I saw it about six months ago in a second hand book store for only ten dollars, and so here I am. The reason why I bought and read it in the end is because of its unique (among Bowie books) lay-out in which people that knew Bowie in all kinds of capacities talk about him in terms of their personal experiences. What makes this book fascinating is the range of people involved that you don't normally find in Bowie books, there's childhood friends, collaborators, musicians bloggers, journalists, novelists, designers, artists, actors and even a palliative care doctor. This disparate bunch of people give a really interesting perspective into Bowie and his life. Also, refreshingly, A Life does not deal that much with his music, rather the primary focus is on Bowie as a person and on how he went about his business. As a long time Bowie fan who knows a great deal about the man and his music there was a great deal to discover. It was a total pleasure to read. A Life is set out chronologically in time, and is broken up into discreet periods, which worked well. Some may find it a bit repetitive and the other 'flaw' is that there are no photographs, but these are minor matters. If you are a Bowie fan I advise you to read this book.

In keeping with the theme of A Life I thought I'd write about my relationship with Bowie. I was born in 1969 and by 1979 I had become aware of Bowie, but did not become a fan until my sister took me to see him in concert in 1983. I was amazed, enthralled, and started buying his back catalogue. As a typical alienated angsty teenager Bowie was just what I needed. In A Life it is pointed out that Bowie was able to project himself in a way that appeared to be speaking directly to the individual, that you could recognise something about what you were going through in your life and feel that you were understood. In this way he became a kind of friend to me, someone you could turn to when things weren't great. I could put on the Diamond Dogs (1974) album, for example, which was filled with obscure lyrical references and dark themes, and feel like it spoke directly to me. Added to this was his musical brilliance, his predilection for fascinating cultural references and his striking individuality. I was lucky enough to meet Bowie in 1987 at the back of the Sydney Entertainment Centre. I spoke to him briefly and got his autograph. It was a bizarre experience, like I had drunk a few beers on an empty stomach. I'll never forget it. That bonus one on one experience with Bowie was certainly great, but really what I am grateful for is that Bowie gave me a lifetime of both musical and intellectual stimulation and a strong personal connection that ultimately is distinctly humanist. So thank you, Mr David Bowie.

Ziggyology: A Brief History of Ziggy Stardust - Simon Goddard (2013)

Rating: Reprehensible

Although literature is a key passion in my life, music does take precedence and Bowie is my main-man (excuse the pun, fellow Bowie fans...). I approached Ziggyology with optimism due to its rather unique premise of exploring the cultural influences brought to bear on Ziggy as a concept and as a character unto himself. It is well known that Bowie readily acknowledged that Ziggy took over his persona at times during the height of Bowie's ascension to stardom. Instead what I read bitterly disappointed me in almost every way. Ziggyology is unfortunately a totally wasted opportunity, as it does not provide serious Bowie fans with anything particularly new regarding Bowie's Ziggy Stardust period and also it fumbles its attempts at presenting an alternate view.

Goddard's attempt at a different take on a familiar story, with a long initial synopsis of the varied cultural influences brought to bear on both Bowie (and therefore Ziggy) and his generation, including Beethoven, H G Wells, Japanese kabuki theatre, the BBC show Quatermass (circa 1950s), Vince Taylor and the Stanley Kubrick films A Clockwork Orange (1971) and 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), is squandered by a quasi academic style that renders any real insights as superficial. Goddard could have provided a serious account of such cultural influences, but instead it reads like a rush-job to endure before you get to the juicy bits about Bowie and Ziggy. The fascinating cultural influences are indeed there, but who really cares? The second great sin is Goddard's flawed approach at examining Bowie's psychological state during the period he evolved the idea of Ziggy and, more significantly, the intense effects it had on his psyche once things really got going. A potentially decent stab at this is marred by scenes in which Goddard depicts Bowie as locking himself in a bathroom at his twenty-fifth birthday party, looking at himself in the mirror and saying "What's it going to be, eh?" A number of times he also depicts Bowie as thinking to himself that "It takes a lot to pretend to be someone else...' Such an insight! This trite approach is unfortunate when a far more interesting and reasonably obscure influence on Bowie regarding the human psyche and concepts of self was Ronald Laing's book, The Divided Self (1960), in which Laing attempts to make madness comprehensible, by, in part, examining personal alienation and the invention of other 'false selves'. This would have been far more interesting than the pop psychology and potted family history presented.

Other aspects of Ziggyology also rankle, such as Goddard's 'aren't I a clever lad' writing style, which grates more and more the longer the book goes on. Even worst is the fact that Goddard is continually putting words in the mouth of Bowie. Unless these words are taken from interviews (some could be, but I didn't recognise any of them), then such a technique can't help but be a dodgy business. Goddard also regularly counters and compares Bowie's career with that of Marc Bolan's (T-Rex), which is fair enough, as they were both friends and rivals, however Goddard increasingly paints Bolan in a negative light beyond a reasonable level and he comes across as being extremely catty in the process. It is known that Bolan certainly had his moments, but there's no need to denigrate him to make Bowie look better. Frankly Ziggyology would have been better as graphic novel, as it's tone and treatment of Ziggy Stardust suits that medium better. Recently one has a appeared and even though I've just looked at it in a book shop I enjoyed that experience far more than reading this paltry attempt at depicting the arrival of Ziggy Stardust and the impact it had on Bowie's career.

No Certainty Attached: Steve Kilbey and the Church – Robert Dean Lurie (2009)

Rating: Excellent

No Certainty Attached is written by long time fan musician and writer Robert Dean Lurie, who in 1990 at the tender age of 16 saw The Church live on a tour of the U.S. Thirteen years later Lurie contacted Kilbey to ask if he’d be involved with this biography and to Lurie’s surprise he said yes. Fittingly the biography begins with some words from Steve Kilbey himself:

Lurie attempts to come to some kinda understanding of my paradox. That is, I can be so nice, or I can be not so nice and hardly anything in the middle. And it’s funny that Lurie puts the boot in at the end and he reckons that the fambly manne (sic) thing is an act, and my everyman pose is faux, and really I’m the same old prick, and Rob, you’ve hit the nail on the head, actually…

As a long time fan of both The Church and Kilbey’s solo music, the question of whether Steve Kilbey is the same old prick is something I do not particularly care about (as interesting as that is). For me the music is the main consideration and I consider The Church to be one of greatest Australian bands of any era. What the above quote reveals is that No Certainty Attached is not one of those sycophantic and superficial biographies. The fact that Kilbey’s ego is not pandered to and that Lurie himself is part of the story makes No Certainty Attached one of the most enjoyable music biographies I’ve read for a long time.

It’s easy to warm to Lurie, his writing style is unpretentiously affable and over the course of the book his relationship with Kilbey and The Church progresses to the level of friendship. Lurie’s life is very much tied up with Kilbey in terms of being a source of inspiration and ongoing fascination. Lurie recounts his first meeting with Kilbey in 1998 as a support for a solo gig, a meeting that provided him both disillusionment and a certain level of fulfilment. The book contains several interludes in which Lurie ponders the ambiguous boundaries between fandom and his burgeoning relationship with Kilbey. Bravely Lurie recounts how during one of their interviews for the book Kilbey openly tests him for evidence of sycophancy; a test that Lurie fails, much to Kilbey’s displeasure. But Lurie later admits that it taught him a valuable lesson.

Although Lurie’s presence in the book is welcome, it’s Kilbey’s story and the history of the band that makes the book an essential read for Kilbey/Church fans. There’s the usual childhood background, with Kilbey emigrating with his parents from the UK in 1957, eventually settling in Canberra. Steve Kilbey the child was a Doctor Who fan and as Lurie notes was, for better or worse, a smaller version of his adult self. Kilbey became a reluctant teenager, recalling that he was disappointed when he realised that his childhood had ended. Lurie notes that as a teenager Kilbey dated a girl that he was attracted to because she looked like Roger Waters circa the 1971 Meddle album. Hilariously he couldn’t understand why this didn’t go down well. Recollections like these give the biography a welcome level of charm and warmth.

Steve Kilbey's girlfriend in high school

The tale of how The Church came together as a band is a fascinating one. Lurie does a fine job recounting the history of The Church, but one of the best things about the book was that I found out about Kilbey’s many obscure side projects that ran parallel with both the Church and his solo career. It’s possible I could be spending a lot of money online searching out these records. Kilbey’s career is like a labyrinth with many rooms containing obscure treasures.

No Certainty Attached also contains a few revelations; including that incredulously the first lineup of the band included a guy who bullied Kilbey in high school – Nick Ward. Lurie’s interviews with Ward reveal that twenty or so years later he probably would still be bullying Kilbey had he stayed in the band. What is it about drummers? I was also amazed to learn that Kilbey endured a ten-year heroin addiction, which began post Gold Afternoon Fix (1990) - naughty Steve, but I’m glad he survived to tell the tale.

Lurie’s serpentine tale of strife, inspiration, failure and musical brilliance ends in 2006, where again he meets with Kilbey on tour. The meeting is friendly and you can detect that fambly man vibe between them. At the end of the book Kilbey has the final word in a hilarious stream of consciousness via his blog in which he refers to Lurie as having been “…some seriously uptight fanboy” and how he divested himself of that and wrote “a good book”. Kilbey is correct and Lurie should update it soon as The Church released one of their best albums in 2009 (Untitled #23) and are still touring to this day. I advise Church fans to read this book, but no doubt many have already. Also check out Kilbey's interesting blog...

Charles Bukowski’s Scarlet: A Memoir - Pamela “Cupcakes” Wood (2010)

Bukowski and Wood

Rating: Admirable

During the 1970’s Charles Bukowski had gained enough notoriety from his street-smart writing to attract the attention of ‘fans’ that wanted to meet him, party with him or in the case of some women, to find out if he really was a dirty old man. Although Bukowski was essentially a misanthropic loner, he mostly let these people into his life and many of these experiences ended up in his writing. In Absence of the Hero (2010) he knowingly refers to this period as ‘research.’

Pamela Wood first met Charles Bukowski in 1975 when her and her friend, Georgia, were out late at night celebrating the latter’s birthday. Inspired by her friend’s love of Bukowski’s writing she rang him from a public phone booth and Bukowski invited them around. That night began two years of involvement in Bukowski’s life and Wood went on to be featured in his great novel Women (1978), inspired a volume of love poems called Scarlet (1976) and many other poems that featured in books such as Love is a Dog From Hell (1977).

Scarlet is a fascinating memoir for Bukowski fans because Wood tells us the story from the other side. Bukowski’s writing was essentially autobiographical, so we know his side of the story only too well. When Pamela Wood met Bukowski she was a young mother struggling to make sense of her life and was partying hard on uppers and alcohol. What you learn from Scarlet is both how Wood changed as a person during the years she knew Bukowski and also the intimate minutiae of her relationship with Bukowski. As fascinating as her time with Bukowski is, Scarlet is also about Wood’s life and like Bukowski she is perceptive and honest about herself and the people in her life at that time.

Bukowski with Georgia

Wood wrote Scarlet herself and although she is no great stylist she manages to project what it was like for a young woman to be thrust into the intense world of Charles Bukowski without resorting to sensationalism. Scarlet helps to bring Bukowski further into focus as a sensitive and complex man who also had a no bullshit attitude. There’s pathos, bathos and serial dysfunction throughout the memoir, but what is interesting is that it mostly comes from Georgia, Wood and her brother, Larry. In fact Bukowski emerges as a voice of reason; admonishing Wood for not being careful with her money, being a stickler for punctuality and displaying a strong work ethic. He did have his flaws of course, such as his irrational jealousy and his alcoholism – of which Wood recalls without much judgment.

Scarlet offers many joys for the Bukowski fan. Wood recounts several poetry readings she attended, where she took pride of place at the front, giving the reader valuable insight into Bukowski the reluctant performer. At one poetry reading in New York Bukowski gives a visiting poet short shrift and at another Wood drinks too much and ends up making a fool of herself in front of the great Jack Nitzsche (Nitzsche also turns up at Bukowski’s bungalow – the two seemed to be great friends.) There are also many intimate photos throughout the book, many of them unseen and taken with the Polaroid camera bought by Bukowski for Wood.

Wood entered Bukowski’s life just after Linda King and Bukowski parted ways for the final time. Bukowski tells an amazed Wood about King’s jealous rage, in which she smashed his beloved typewriter, all caused by Bukowski talking about Wood to King. Of course anyone who has read Women will be already familiar with this and many of the other events Wood recalls. That book almost ruined a relationship for Wood, when years later her soon to be husband read the book and nearly called off the wedding because of her portrayal as a wild and sexy pill popper.

Despite the dysfunction and general craziness of Bukowski and Wood’s relationship, Wood ends up looking back with genuine fondness for Bukowski. Bukowski suffered a great deal because of his love for Wood, which she acknowledges without coming over as being defensive - in fact Wood is both insightful and genuine. At the end it is extremely touching when she talks about how it felt to hear about Bukowski’s death on the radio after having not seen him for nearly twenty years. She went from someone who couldn’t understand why people loved his writing to someone who was angered when the radio announcer referred to Bukowski as a “pornographic poet.” Wood, like Bukowski’s admirers, knew that he was much more than that and through Scarlet she confirms this fact emphatically.

You know who this is...

You’ll Be Sorry When I’m Dead – Marieke Hardy (2011)

Rating: Excellent

During the chapter entitled – ‘Down the Hatch,’ Marieke Hardy asks where are all the female writers who write like Charles Bukowski? After reading You’ll Be Sorry When I’m Dead I have to conclude that Hardy herself is attempting to inspire a female Bukowski writers movement single handedly. Hardy has filled her memoir with frank admissions of living an unconventional and drunken life in the public eye and all the complications and adventures that come with it. Oh, and it’s also poignant, funny, insightful and clever - Bukowski would have been proud.

For those of you who have no idea who Marieke Hardy is, and there’d be at least some of you, think journalist, broadcaster, confessional blogger , child actor (see 1.46 minutes into this abomination), writer of screenplays  and a regular panel member of the ABC First Tuesday Book Club. Hardy is only in her mid 30’s, so why a memoir now? When I first heard about this book that’s exactly what I thought, in a rather cynical fashion I have to confess. Mind you the fact that she is a total literate babe and that I’m one of those viewers of First Tuesday Book Club who aren’t just in it for the panel’s viewpoints about their latest read – she looks great with a flower behind her ear and she knows it. I didn’t need much more enticement to give her book a go.

The title of this book is apt. Hardy herself and her writing style can irritate people, but ultimately her charm makes her easy to warm to. The book is entertaining in a guilty kind of way. It’s like a well-written car crash - you can’t look away and you kind of feel bad that you don’t. Hardy reveals details about her life that most people would keep as deep dark secrets. There’s the small matter of attending a swingers night out of curiosity. The ensuing tale is cringe-worthy and wildly entertaining and I’m glad she didn’t leave it out. Hardy also didn’t leave out her obsession with prostitutes, which influences her adventures with one particular boyfriend with bad-boy qualities.

Before you start to think that this book is just about drinking and weird sex, Hardy brings some balance to proceedings with a chapter about a close friend’s battle with cancer. There are also chapters about a Young Talent Time obsession and an examination of what it’s like to be a twenty something with a clique of friends, which is aptly titled ‘The Bubble’. There’s also a hilarious chapter devoted to Hardy’s Bob Ellis fandom and how they end up meeting. In some ways though, Ellis ends up upstaging Hardy. Throughout the memoir a nice touch comes in the form of a right of reply at the end of some chapters, offering a significant player in proceedings a chance to respond. What could be seen as an indulgence works well and brings balance to the outrageousness. However, Bob Ellis’s reply is even more outrageous than what had preceded it, and as if she knows this we hear nothing more from Hardy and the book ends with an afterward from one of her significant ex-boyfriends.

There is something fascinating going on here. You’ll Be Sorry When I’m Dead is more than just another memoir. I believe that this book directly reflects the influence of online culture with Facebook, Live Journal and blogs that allow people to live their lives in the public eye without a thought to privacy. Revelations simply emerge online, into the light, blinking and wondering what all the fuss is about. You’ll Be Sorry When I’m Dead is partly a product of this culture, and it is in some way an extension of Marieke Hardy’s own blog that is sadly on a hiatus at the moment. A book of this sort may be beyond the pale for some people. Hardy has certainly left herself open to judgment from both male and female readers. Personally I think that she is a brave trailblazer, especially considering that Hardy often paints herself in an unflattering light.

They’ll be more memoirs written in this style by people other than rock stars (they are a natural at this game) and in the ensuing years there’ll be no avoiding them. Of course there are precedents, with Julian Cope’s memoir Head On (1994) being a great example of an individual letting it all hang out. Head On is perhaps the greatest book about the music industry ever published. But I digress, safe to say that this book represents a refreshing approach to the memoir and I admire Hardy for her audacity.

In that previously mentioned chapter, ‘Down the Hatch,’ a judgmental viewer sends Hardy a Alcoholics Anonymous pamphlet and warms her to stop drinking to excess and that it’s obvious that she is out of control due to her demeanour on the First Tuesday Book Club. I’m going to suggest no such thing. Keep living your drunken and adventurous life Marieke, and above all continue to write about it. Marieke, you can be my female Bukowski anytime. 

And now for a female point of view from guest reviewer Elizabeth....

For fear of sounding like a sycophant, I must say Marieke Hardy’s first book affected me profoundly. Her prose is clear and honest, and she shares touching and laugh-out-loud funny stories of love, sex, boozing, loss and laughter. Hardy has guts. She shares her truth boldly and unpretentiously, seemingly unafraid to expose her fantasies and insecurities. This is a book that shines due to its sheer ‘humanness’ – she’s delightfully imperfect and the reader can relate to her self-doubt and laugh along with her self-deprecating humour. She cleverly draws the reader in with her conspiratorial style, which is like a wink and a whisper of “just between you and me…”

It’s not Hardy’s style that affected me so deeply. Her book made me feel less alone in the world. I promise I won’t gush with snot-smeared gratitude like an addict in a self-help meeting, but I felt a rare feeling after finishing it. It felt like it was written for me (and all those who love libraries and long afternoons of intoxication). Most popular offerings for women entreat us to swoon helplessly under the power of dashing vampires or yet another contemporary version of Jane Austen’s Mr. Darcy. With all the popular ‘chick lit’ written these days, there’s little written about the interior life of the modern woman that explores beyond our romantic yearnings.

I loved this book, as Hardy had the courage to write about herself – her past, her hopes, ideas and preferences. The focus of the book is not her romantic relationships, though they are discussed. In the first chapter, she shares her adventures with prostitutes and three-ways – hardly conventional romance! It was refreshing to read her portrayal of female desire, which I’m pleased to report, displayed a complete absence of swooning!

Hardy asks questions I have asked myself – where are the female Bukowskis? Why won’t I pick up my clothes and put them away? How do I behave around children when I don’t have a maternal bone in my body? To me, having been a precocious ‘weird girl’ who’s grown up to enjoy all of life’s pleasures, Marieke’s bold admissions encouraged me to not only accept myself, but to revel in my tendency to be a lush and fabulous individual.

I literally squealed with glee while reading, as Marieke lived my 1980’s Aussie childhood dream – appearing in The Henderson Kids as a child star, and going on to act in, and eventually write, Neighbours. She was even clumsily kissed by one of the Young Talent Time kids! In terms of Australian popular culture, there’s plenty to enjoy in this book.

The stories Hardy shares are no less than hilarious. A word of warning – this is not a book to read on the train. Unless you don’t mind subjecting other passengers to your unladylike snorts of laughter as you read about the day writer, Bob Ellis met his canine namesake.

You’ll Be Sorry When I’m Dead is most definitely worth the read – for the humour, the honesty, the humanness. These are the adventures of a woman unafraid of adventure, doing what many of us have dreamed but wouldn’t dare attempt.

Perhaps best of all, Hardy reminds us there are stories in all of us worth sharing - if we honour truth, beauty and love. Although she slums the depths at times, this is a memoir and a woman with real class.

Divine Invasions: A Life of Philip K. Dick - Lawrence Sutin (1989)

Rating: Excellent

For those of you who don’t know anything about Philip K. Dick then there are two things you need to know - he was a total freak but he was also a brilliant and unique writer of science fiction, perhaps because he was, well, a freak. I know this because I’ve read quite a few of his novels and short stories. After reading Divine Invasions – A Life of Philip K. Dick I’m more convinced than ever that he was one of a kind. I few months ago at the Revelation Film Festival I saw Radio Free Albemuth and it was a film worthy of Dick’s vision. I mentioned this to a fellow ‘Dickhead’ at work and he lent me this book. Divine Invasions is a fine summation of Dick’s work and I recommend it to anyone interested in this maverick’s life.

Philip K. Dick was born in 1928 in Chicago and later moved with his mother to Berkeley after his parents divorced. Dick would live in and around Berkeley for most of his life. Dick was born just at the right time to be involved in the great rise of science fiction in the pulp era of the 40’s, 50’s and 60’s. Dick is rightly considered to be one of the most important science fiction writers to emerge from this era because his influence permeates both modern film and literature. Also, to a certain degree, modern life resembles his books (more on this later). Early on Dick churned out short stories on demand in an attempt to make a living from the pulp magazines. Although science fiction was popular during that era it certainly wasn’t seen as a legitimate form of literature and initially Dick yearned to escape its confines by writing mainstream literature. However, only one of these novels would be published in his lifetime - Confessions of a Crap Artist (1975), but fortunately for Dick he became recognized as one of the most talented science fiction writers around.

Dick wrote a large number of short stories throughout his career, many brilliant, most fascinating and some deserving of the moniker ‘pulp’. The most recent collection I read - The Father Thing: Volume Three of the Collected Stories (1987) had some of his greats, like The Golden Man and Null – O. These stories are brilliant distillations of Dick’s imagination and his disturbing world-view. He was also a prolific writer of novels, typing at mad speeds under the influence of legally prescribed amphetamines; he was hooked on them for well over a decade. During 1963 – 1964 alone Dick produced 11 science fiction novels, including two that I’ve read in recent years – Dr Bloodmoney (1965) and The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch (1965).

The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch is a perfect example of Dick’s obsessions – what is real, how can you tell you know what’s real and what is human? A question that would later be fully explored in Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? (1968). Stigmata is bizarre, intense, thoroughly entertaining and above all subverts the reader’s perception of just what science fiction can do. This is true of many of Dick’s books, just start reading and you are in for a wild ride. Stigmata is a great place to start if you are unfamiliar with Dick’s writing.

Dick’s writing mostly negates science fiction’s usual obsession with predicting the future. Most of his books are set in the near future and usually within the confines of the solar system. Furthermore Dick certainly didn’t write space operas, although part of me wished that he had. Dick’s main interest was placing ordinary people in extraordinary situations, usually mind-bending and unfathomable in nature. The events in Dick’s narratives are not only weird to the reader, but also to the protagonists. Dick gets away with presenting weird realities in his stories because his characters are very believable and are usually ordinary individuals the reader can relate to. A great example of this is the policeman in Flow My Tears the Policeman Said (1974) who has to deal with some intensely strange situations, yet he has reoccurring sinus problems and a yearning to connect. Many of his characters are usually neurotic or have very human flaws, like being messy or hopeless at relationships. In fact one could argue that Dick was a humanist science fiction writer. Also, characterisation is one of Dick’s great strengths, something that was often missing in his contemporaries writing. As Divine Invasions reveals, Dick quite often sourced his characters from those around him, his relationships and from his own numerous neurosis.

Another fascinating aspect to Dick’s writing is the fact that because he set many of his stories in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries we are essentially now living in their time frames. Although we don’t have flying cars, and Dick loved flying cars (in novels such as Flow my Tears the Policeman Said and The Game Players of Titan (1963) flying cars are sarcastic, stubborn and offer unwanted advice about their owner’s lives), in many ways we are living in times that he would recognise. The interactive and malleable digital society that we take for granted is far weirder than we think. The technology of the Web has created an environment in which duplicity and occluded reality are as easy to create as ever before. The sinister implications of this would be easily recognizable to Dick. The kind of technology that is used to deceive, to control and to spy in modern times could have come right out of some of Dick’s narratives (this would have made him very paranoid). In some ways, though, Dick would have been proud that we have become aware that the universe is way weirder than we could have ever imagined. As an interesting aside, for William Gibson, one of the most significant science fiction writers of the last thirty years, the multiple layered realities of Dick’s near future narratives have become symptomatic of our times. Gibson has mostly given up on the future, setting his recent novels in the present because he believes that it is weirder than any future he can now imagine. See the great quote: The future is already here — it's just not very evenly distributed. *

Dick’s life and work would get stranger before he died in 1982 of multiple stokes and a heart attack. His life came to resemble his books and fittingly he began to place himself as characters in their narratives; in VALIS (1981) he was known entertainingly as Horselover Fat and sometimes he would appear as multiple characters at odds with each other or sharing the same experiences. Dick managed the post-modern trick of inserting his life into his novels as a reaction to his life becoming like his novels – they just bled into each other.

In what became known as the 2-3-74 experiences, Dick ‘received’ via beams of light a series of insights, messages and visions that obsessed him for the rest of his life. These visions he ‘received’ in 1974 conferred to him that reality, as humanity knew it, was an illusion, that in fact we were trapped in time by an outside force. These were religious experiences for Dick and he spent years pondering his visions and insights. Helped along by his vast knowledge of the world’s religions, Dick kept a diary he called the Exegesis, that helped him explore his experiences. Apparently the Exegesis journal is to be published shortly. Safe to say, as Sutin noted, Dick did not take himself too seriously and throughout the Exegesis writings he wonders whether he’s just a delusional hack. Dick’s last three novels published during his lifetime explore these experiences and obsessions – VALIS (1981), The Divine Invasion (1981) and The Transmigrations of Timothy Archer (1982).

Apparently Dick regarded himself as a ‘fictionalising philosopher’, and I think that description is apt. Philip K. Dick is a hip writer insomuch that many get into his books because of his reputation and his mind-boggling plots, however he offers much more than that. Dick deserves to be read because he challenges the reader and his writing is intensely thought provoking and insightful. Personally I still have much to look forward to, as I’m yet to read such greats as Ubik (1969) and Martian Time Slip (1964). If you think that you may be immune to the lure of Dick’s writings, that he was just a delusional writer of pulp sci-fi, then please set aside your presumptions and give his writings a chance. After all, you are living in a ‘Phildickian’ universe but you just don’t know it yet. **

·      I couldn’t find the interview in which Gibson talks about the present, but this is entertaining in any case.

** Or now maybe you do after reading the above?