Expected publication: June 30, 2026, by William Morrow
“Without
getting too ontological on your ass how
do you know anything is real?”
During a
conversation with Paul at Stokercon in 2024, which was with Jim Ruland about
our favorite Bad Religion songs, I mentioned that we needed to talk about his
favorite PKD at some point. I forgot to come back to that, assuming someday I
would get him on the podcast. When this title was announced, everyone was very
curious about my opinion. I mean, I do a PKD podcast and have multiple books in
progress that are Phil-related. I am also a big fan of Paul Tremblay, who has
yet to disappoint me with any of his novels. I believe that Pallbearer’s club
is underrated.
Because of
his massive and well-deserved mainstream success, Paul can experiment with form
as he did in Horror Movie, and he carried that over into this novel. It
seems to me this novel is a reaction to the AI- theft case (of which Paul was a
true hero of all writers) as he served as plaintiff. AI is not just stealing our fiction; it is
creeping into many aspects of our lives. I certainly am glad Paul is going for
something on the topic.
As for the
influence, I am a tough customer on what makes a piece of fiction
“Phil-Dickian,” just as my brother Cody Goodfellow is with Lovecraft. So I
admit I was a bit nervous. The marketing of this book also set a high bar:
“Philip K. Dick meets the Coen Brothers.” I admit I bristled at that because I
think the marketing was avoiding the reality that PKD is almost always
hilarious, and felt the publisher was trying to say weird but also funny. This
book certainly has dark humor, and made this reader laugh. Now, let's get into
the story.
“You
want me to remote control this dead dude across the country.”
Julia is a
gamer who doesn’t know what to do after graduating from college, living with
her uncle, no skills except playing games. She is offered a job by her
estranged mother, who is working for a massive tech company. They want her to
use her gamer skills; she has to transport a patient in a vegetative state
using a game controller across the country to end up in a right-to-die
state. The tech company using human
beings to test experimental technology becomes a fantastic vehicle for this
exploration of reality and the growing exploitation of people that the tech
companies are getting away with. This is
one author’s attempt to tackle the AI issue in real time. Back to Julia.
She is an
old school movie fan, it is part of what makes her character, and she has
watched The Big Lebowski enough times to recite it, and it makes perfect
sense that she sees this gig as a bit of “Weekend at Bernie's,” and thus calls
her traveler Bernie. When the mission comes down, she is rightly uncomfortable
about it. Yes, Tremblay is setting up the darkest possible road trip buddy
movie ever.
She
doesn’t like it when they compare the trip to being just like jump-starting a
car.
“And
didn’t you say you were transporting him to the East Coast? That’s hardly a
short distance.”
“I
acknowledge the metaphor falls apart at the end, which is a shame. Anyway, the
implanted tech will enable and facilitate electric communication between the
man’s remaining healthy brain cells. Again, the man will not be conscious or
aware of any of this. The man is gone. There is no him left of him. Only the
machine of his body. And the tech allows a remote user—” Brady points at Julia,
and her insides turn to liquid “—to regulate and control his large muscle
groups.” Brady smiles, chuckles softly to himself, and relaxes his posture. “We
have achieved context.”
Only the
machine of his body remains. This is, of course, a science fictional concept,
but the story comes with the appropriate darkness. The idea that the “machine”
of our body is kept alive is a technological nightmare. Tremblay really does a
fantastic job of making this process creepy. Brady, in this, says the man is
gone, but as the novel progresses, we know that is not true.
“They
inserted arrays of wireless power-sourcing electrodes between the patient's
skin and his skull, even smaller electrodes within brain blood vessels. They
also scattered what they're calling neural dust directly onto targeted brain
areas, specifically the known sections of control motor function. The dust is
comprised of microscopic electrodes that send signals as well as collect data,
along with their first generation, the protein-based nanobots. The nanobots
have the ability to temporarily bridge electrical gaps between live and dead
neurons, as well as being able to produce and replicate more bots using
proteins from dead neurons if the AI-enhanced software detects the need.”
It is a
subtle thing, but the fact that nonobots are carried on dust, which is an
entropic source of doom in Dick’s Electric Sheep, is a great easter egg
(intentional or not). The technology is changing, and I find it scary to think
about it changing our biology.
I don’t
think it is a spoiler to say that the company behind this technology is full of
shit; much of the book's most powerful moments are in Bernie’s dying brain
battles with the technology trying to control him. The enemy he calls the
clicks. Much of this is text is in boxes, and changing sizes all over the
place.
Or the chapter’s
called You (as opposed to Julia). These are written in second person, odd as
that makes two books I’ve read in a row, major science fiction releases due out
in June that use this technique.
“Your
right foot lands on the shadow bridge, the bridge she made with her shadow
body, her shadow body spanning across a void, one of many voids.
Within
your right foot and leg there is a sensation of contact, similar to but not the
same as having pressed against the pavement or the wooden footbridge. The
shadow bridge is indeed solid, but it's not rigid….”
These
chapters are when Tremblay reaches moments of Dickian flavor; the chapters with
Julia are very solidly written. Julia is a solid, fully realized character. Her
Uncle is only in the narrative for a short amount of time, but he is vivid in a
natural way. The YOU chapters were wild and untethered in a Dickian way. The
weird design is one thing, but the text itself feels wonderfully and
disturbingly unhinged. But as strange as they were, those chapters got deep at
the same time.
“There
are bigger questions to be asked, including, but not limited to; Is Bernie
alive? Is he feeling pain? Is he experiencing everything as a prisoner looking
through bars of his own body? Has his consciousness been winnowed to A
metaphysical keyhole where does consciousness begin or end? How is
consciousness defined? Julia is a morosely thoughtful person in the way all
thoughtful people are morose, will later ponder and weigh these questions and
more.”
The novel
is very much inspired by the battles over AI slop, and nothing makes this more
clear than an interlude when Tremblay talks directly to the audience in a
section that might be more Vonnegut than anyone. It ends up being one of the
best turns in the story and happens in a section called “From a brief interlude
on page 110: “writing a novel is difficult. That isn't to say it's more
difficult than any other endeavors that require anyone from six months to two
years, on average to complete, That average refers to human written work that
did not rely on or imply the idea algorithms and bots that you used to write in
separate emails and to complete other tests, short sightedly greasing the skids
for your eventual replacement within the workforce. This shouldn't be a
controversial statement, but writing requires experience, not writing
experience, though that of course helps, but the living, existing, everyday
kind of experience writing is not computation and is not pattern recognition,
as some narcissistic adults claim, otherwise more mathematicians would be
writing books, and who the hell wants that? Nobody, so, sorry, but not everyone
has a book in them, any more than everyone has a house they can frame, wire,
and roof in them….”
Speaking
for many writers in the wake of the Shy Girl drama, writing a novel is hard
work. The pain and the struggle is part of the process, and if you don't like
the hard parts, maybe you just were not meant to be a writer. I was so happy to
see Paul come out and say not everyone has a book in them. It may seem like this is a on the nose
attempt to shortcut the message, but it is a smart way to play with the reader,
and I loved the feel I got at the end of the interlude.
“And
what is the purpose of this interlude, you ask? Without spelling it out,
underlining, and going all caps on your ass, a few questions for you to ponder:
Have you, to this point in the novel, wondered who the narrator is? Who is
telling and relaying the story? And Why?”
Of course,
I can’t speak to what the answers are, if any, because you have to read the
book. The fact is, this interlude was next-level fourth-wall breaking, and I
loved it.
“Are
you fucking serious?” Her terror at having her background and past ten hours
described in detail is now matched by a burgeoning technophobia. She doesn't
believe the simulation talk, not really; she still wants Lisa to reach into her
brain and take back everything she said.”
How PKD is
the final product? Paul Tremblay is almost too smart and talented to write a
book that is totally Dickian to obsessive like me. I like how Phil’s books feel like a dude
yelling on the street corner wearing a tinfoil hat. I study PKD way to closely,
and have experimented in writing in his style, so I am not objective on this
topic. The parts in Bernie’s brain have that dangerous quality, and they are
very Dickian, and made it is sacrilege to say, but Paul Tremblay is ALMOST too
good for this.
What I can
say very clearly is that Dead, But Still Dreaming of Electric Sheep is a
treat for Philip K. Dick fans. It is a great feeling seeing his themes and
fears handled with such quality; it makes for a high-tech nightmare that will
have you pondering what it all means long after you finish it.
