Meh. PKD had all the elements for a perfectly ingenious story but he drowned it all in unresolved subplots, endless conversations amongst stoned-out-of-their-minds junkies, psychological insights of the shallowest sort, disjointed and unresolved would-be plot twists, a half-sketched conspiracy that sees women raped and drugged, and children injected in the cradle in order to grow up as addicts – all contradicted at length by the narrator's afterwords on his intention to portray drugs as a conscious choice – and a sanctimonious "I have been to hell and back, listen all ye not-yet-hopeless sinners" attitude, all crammed in a plot with more holes in it than a captured traitor's chest in times of war. It is dubious whether PKD had any idea what he was aiming at.
