Junkies

PKD's work seems to be very concerned with the downtrodden every-man. The character that we can't help but empathize with, despite his/her/their numerous flaws. More broadly, the archetypes and stock characters PKD plays with definitely are not of the pulp variety, of which even critically-praised works can be guilty: The Old Man and the Sea, Lolita, The Road, and so forth. The characters that appear in his novel reek of ennui and self-loathing. I would go so far as to argue that PKD intends for the reader to despise his characters, much in the same way a real person despises themselves for sins, however outdated of a Judeo-Christian ideal that may be.

What most interests me is the split in perspectives in A Scanner Darkly. Not the narrative perspectives, but the literary ones; the very form of the novel. About a year ago, I began reading F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Beautiful and The Damned, in which Fitzgerald utilizes the same literary trick: Replacing traditional dialogue with faux script lines, as if from a play. This switch allows for the characters' speech to interpreted without any textual or descriptive clues, allowing for the reader to substitute for the actor. Each line is interpreted by the individual reader in whatever tone or manner said reader layers onto the dialogue. To be honest, The Beautiful and The Damned is not the best novel, and the use of the script-dialogue is a glaring weak point in the text; however, A Scanner Darkly capitalizes on the ambiguity and confusion generated by this formative switch, allowing for the already-disoriented readers to be further flung into the morass of the novel.

On a very separate note, I highly recommend you watch the film interpretation of A Scanner Darkly, after, and only after, having finished the novel. Each of Barris' lines echo of Robert Downey Jr.