Puttering About in a Small Land Book

The worst part of having a favourite author who died before you started reading him is that eventually you will run out of new reading material. The best part of that favourite author being Philip K Dick is that he was prolific as fuck AND he has so many books that are only recently coming back into print and/or being published posthumously for the first time that even though I've been reading him for 20+ years, I still haven't run out of new-to-me shit to read.

Puttering About in a Small Land is one of those mythical PKD volumes I searched used book stores and thrift shops for for years. It was first published in the mid-80s, following Dick's death, then went out of print for almost three decades cos there was never much call for his literary fiction. It's not sexy enough to be referred to in hushed reverential tones like a DADoES or mind-fucky enough to be a scholarly treatise on humanity and reality like the VALIS trilogy.

It's a quiet book, dealing with adultery and retail. It's undeniably an early Dick book, exploring what exactly it means to be human; to feel eternal, knowing all this pain is an illusion. The prose and style will be familiar to anyone who's read more than a handful of his books or short stories, but it's not one of his Big Damn Idea books.

I feel I'm not explaining myself very well.

If you're a genre fan thinking to dabble in Dick, don't start here. [Waves hand] This is not the book you're looking for. You go read something else (if you don't want to start with the usual suspects, I applaud you and would recommend The Penultimate Truth, Dr Bloodmoney or The Cosmic Puppets), cos you will likely find this book's slightly plodding pace infuriating.

If you're a litfic reader, looking to broaden your reading horizons, you *could* give this one a go. Maybe only if you're already into mid-20th Century Americana, though. This might not be the best starting point. You'd be better served picking up Confessions of a Crap Artist or Flow My Tears, the Policeman Said (which, yes, is genre fiction, but ONLY JUST).

Fellow Dickheads? Obviously you need to read this. After Milton Lumky (who knew typewriter sales would be so compelling?). You might hate it, but your need for completion will compel you.

TL;DR This book isn't for you. Or you. Or you. But it might be for YOU.