The Premise
Allen Purcell runs a major media outlet in a society that stresses and enforces moral perfection. One morning, he wakes up to discover that he committed an illegal act without conscious planning or intent. Then he's offered a plum position by the State, forcing him to reconcile a high profile promotion, and an inexplicable temptation towards rebellion.
In Review
Once again, the latest Philip K. Dick (PKD) book I've read vaults to the forefront as one of my favorites from his considerable repertoire. Before this, I devoured Dr. Bloodmoney, and thought about it for days afterwards; now, The Man Who Japed is ruling my thoughts, and pushing away any other fiction that I attempt to read.
This is, in fact true: no matter what book I pull from my shelf, or tempt myself into buying, nothing appeals to me right now. I think back on The Man Who Japed, repeat the elation that it gave me, and lose any interest in other fiction. This happens to me every time I read a novel that plants lengthy barbs into my psyche, and leaves a phantom presence that lingers long after the book itself has been put away. Correction: the book now rests upon my desk, where I can look at it while writing, browsing the interwebs, or farting around on the computer. It is the literary equivalent of a family photo, displayed close by as a ready source of nostalgia.
Jaded readers are probably experiencing the urge to pull away from the fulsome praise I am piling onto this slim, lesser-known work that has been cast as science fiction. You see, I cannot help it: the effect it had on me is still too fresh, too poignant, to evaluate the book from a more professional distance. This novel made me laugh, made me excited, and then punched me in the head with the last few paragraphs. My head is still ringing, and my understanding of good literature is now one book deeper.
What is it about The Man Who Japed that makes it so powerful? For one, the brevity. Just try and find a contemporary novel that satirizes the media, societal hang-ups with morality, the sub-conscious, new-age psychology, and corporate manners in less than 200 pages and successfully so at that. Even those writers that I respect would probably draw these ideas out into a single, hefty tome, if not a full-fledged series of space opera and epic conquest. PKD's novel, by comparison, is less than 170 pages, and these hold a font of considerable size at that. His control of the narrative is remarkable, especially considering that this novel was published less than 4 years after he decided to pursue writing as a professional.
The prose, too, is good. PKD employs little metaphor, and does not linger over sentences to drive home an image, emotion, or thought. Descriptions are concise, and dialog is so spare, it barely contains the personality of the characters who use it. This is common in PKD's work, and though I've read a number of his books now (6, and counting), I am at a loss to explain why, or even how, it works; regardless, it does. I would even go so far as to say that a conversation in a PKD novel is unlike any other that can be found in fiction. Somehow, PKD was able to translate human dialog into prose that is just as attractive, and just as smoky. Read some of the extended conversations in A Scanner Darkly, and you run the risk of getting lost, with only vague purchases to grab onto. In The Man Who Japed, there were times that I did not understand what was being discussed but there was still just enough context for me to stick with the story, and dive further.
The Man Who Japed reminded me of another excellent science fiction novel Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451. Like Bradbury, PKD gets to the core of his narrative with concise, good prose. He, too, posits a utopian society that employs the media as a conditioning tool, and relies on members of society to inform upon one another. Both of these books were published in the early-to-mid fifties, a time when the Red Scare was fresh in people's memory, and large media companies began to realize the extent of their influence. And, like Fahrenheit 451, The Man Who Japed feels astonishingly appropriate in the present day; at times the parallels between the pages and the world around me were so distinct, I had to shake my head.
All, however, is not doom and gloom: there is a surprising amount of humor in The Man Who Japed - and by humor, I am not referring to the gallows sort that characterizes his later work. The Man Who Japed is a straight-up funny book. I laughed aloud repeatedly especially during the denouement and felt my spirits rising in step with the narrative. At first, this comic presence surprised me, so much that I re-read the dialog that induced me to laughter. As I read on, I caught on to this tone, and detected a playfulness that was wholly new to my perspective of PKD and his work. The plot may involve a strict, double-crossing government, but the mood is decidedly irreverent.
In this respect, The Man Who Japed is an exceptional Philip K. Dick novel. The story has a much lighter tone, despite the presence of a despotic government and a sinister police presence. The main character, for a change, is wholly likable, and enjoys a healthy marriage with his wife. The presence of these elements alone in a PKD novel surprised me, but the ending snuck completely past my expectations: it is triumphant. Not tragic or uncertain or strange or uncomfortable or un-good-anything but a bona fide, character-centered victory. For the first time, the last few paragraphs of a PKD book elevated my mood considerably.
Gazooks, this cannot be a PKD book! Humor, likable characters, and a stable wife? Entranced by this unexpected phenomenon, I turned back to the copyright page and noted a publication date of 1956. This novel, then, was published early in PKD's career, well before he had established a reputation as a crazy, messianic author. I wondered if this was a happier period in PKD's life, and brought up the topic with my colleague, D_Davis, who is familiar with this background. He confirmed my suspicions: much of the difficulties that PKD experienced started in the 60s, and continued to accumulate in later years, leading him to turn his energies inward, and labor over a personal philosophy that was wholly inaccessible to other human beings.
PKD wrote The Man Who Japed before these troubles weighed down both his life, and his fiction. His talent, though young, is readily apparent, while the lighter tone introduces a side of him that is not often associated with his legacy. It goes to show that PKD was more than a science fiction author: he was a writer in touch with his surroundings, his material, and his craft. With every book I read from his impressive canon, my respect for him only grows. To those readers who have yet to pick him up, I highly recommend you do so. You will not regret the experience.
9/14/06
