By Philip K. Dick
Dans ce roman inédit jusqu'à ce jour et miraculeusement retrouvé, Philip ok. Dick, plus visionnaire que jamais, nous livre l. a. radioscopie d'une Amérique urbaine suffocante à travers le portrait psychological d'un jeune homme au bord de los angeles crise.
Oakland, Californie. Stuart Hadley a apparemment tout pour être heureux : un bon task, vendeur de télés, une femme amoureuse, une petite vie tranquille. D'où vient alors ce malaise qui ne le quitte pas, cette sensation d'être piégé dans sa propre lifestyles ? L'amour, l'argent, los angeles consommation, le travail : aucune des valeurs prônées par los angeles société américaine ne semble lui fournir l. a. moindre solution.
Reste l. a. tentation des extrêmes... Deux rencontres vont peut-être réanimer sa vie : Theodore Beckheim, chief charismatique de los angeles société des Gardiens de Jésus, et los angeles mystérieuse Marsha Frazier, rédactrice en chef d'un magazine cryptofasciste. Mais là encore, les réponses ne sont-elles pas illusoires ?
S'il n'emprunte pas les chemins de los angeles science-fiction, avec ce roman écrit en 1953, Philip ok. Dick se montre tout aussi prophétique. los angeles query de l'intolérance politique et religieuse comme remède au malaise social et existentiel, plus d'actualité que jamais, y est posée avec une exceptionnelle acuité. Un livre noir qui réjouira les nombreux lecteurs de Dick et fera découvrir aux autres un romancier essentiel.
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Extra info for Les voix de l'asphalte
Example text
She thought little of it any more, except on days like this when the sun's rays through the window slats drew green and red fire from the heart of the oval white counters. The office was warm with the heat of spring sun, and a fly wakened from hibernation was crawling sluggishly on the sill near where Essa set her mug. Soon she too was sluggish with stuffy warmth, and the numbers blurred, and her fingers slowed their counting and lost their place. came in from the sun-filled yard, a clipboard under had been checking the manifests of a small shipment of decorative arts which had come down the trails from Elphender.
He said. " room. She looked at cats. They looked at her. Even a small nose poked out from under the safe draperies of the entryway chair, as the white cat there decided it was safe to check out the stranger. The kitten was black-and-orange, and climbed to the trader's shoulder. "I named this one for you," he said. " She stepped carefully over the brown cat, who was sitting before her, grooming, and went into the kitchen. The trader handed Essa stood in the center of the first her the kitten. "Minh," she said tentatively.
Which one of them stepped first? She thought it was her. She felt the teeth of the comb against her back, his other fist still holding the shirt pulled her waist to him, and she had her fingers tangled in his wet hair. It was a satisfying kiss, but its unexpectedness shocked them apart. " he said. Her hand was over her breath. They looked at each other. He started to comb his hair again. She bent and handed him the shirt, which he had dropped. "Thanks," he said, and turned away to the cupboard, pulling his shirt over his head.