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176 pages, Paperback
First published June 1, 1969





"You mean you're trying to protect your life?" Joe said. "But your life is over." He did not comprehend; it made no sense, it was eerie and bizarre. The thought of a decayed corpse - his corpse - living this semilife down here, going through the motions of making itself safe... "Improve living standards for the dead," he said savagely, speaking at large, to neither Mali nor the corrupted body floating before him.His life may be hollow, but he will try to protect it. Even when given an opportunity to be a part of something larger than himself, something that will connect him to others, he will find ways to fuck it up. It's like he can't help himself.
I should feel sorry for you," Mali said. "But I can't. You brought this on all of us - you've destroyed Glimmung, who meant to save you from your puerile pastimes. He meant to restore the dignity of work to you in a heroic enterprise, a joint enterprise involving hundreds of us..."The book feels like its narrative is leading to some grand adventure, so many people and aliens gathered together to accomplish something remarkable, something that will give their empty lives meaning. Not so much though, or at least not so much for our poor, tragic, angry, friendly Galactic Pot-Healer. Don't buy what the book is pretending to sell, on its surface. Dick is just fucking with you.

Strength. The strength of being, he thought, and opposite to that the peace of nonbeing. Which was better? Strength wore out in the end, every time; so perhaps that was the answer and no more was needed. Strength--being--was temporary. And peace--nonbeing--was eternal; it had existed prior to his birth and would resume for him after his death. The period of strength, in between, was merely an episode, a short flexing of borrowed muscles--a body which would have to be returned... to the real owner.His personal quest for meaning will ultimately blend with something (literally) much larger than himself.