By Philip K. Dick
Dans ce roman inédit jusqu'à ce jour et miraculeusement retrouvé, Philip okay. 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 l. a. 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 life ? L'amour, l'argent, l. a. 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 l. a. 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 l. a. science-fiction, avec ce roman écrit en 1953, Philip okay. Dick se montre tout aussi prophétique. l. a. 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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Additional info for Les voix de l'asphalte
But he still did not know where he was, and the speaker at the other end of the circuit must have understood his situation completely. "Don't worry, Dave. This is Frank Poole. I'm watching your heart and respiration-everything is perfectly normal. Just relax – take it easy. " Soft light flooded into the chamber; he saw moving shapes silhouetted against the widening entrance. And in that moment, all his memories came back to him, and be knew exactly where he was. Though he had come back safely from the furthest borders of sleep, and the nearest borders of death, he had been gone only a week.
At the end of the hundred days, Discovery would close down. All the crew would go into hibernation; only the essential systems would continue to operate, watched over by the ship's tireless electronic brain. She would continue to swing around Saturn, on an orbit now so well determined that men would know exactly where to look for her a thousand years hence. But in only five years, according to present plans, Discovery II would come. Even if six or seven or eight years elapsed, her sleeping passengers would never know the difference.
When Bowman used the highest magnification of Discovery's telescopes, he appeared to be hanging above a slightly flattened globe, looking down upon a vista of racing clouds that had been smeared into bands by the giant world's swift rotation. Sometimes those bands congealed into wisps and knots and continent-sized masses of colored vapor; sometimes they were linked by transient bridges thousands of miles in length. Hidden beneath those clouds was enough material to outweigh all the other planets in the Solar System.
Les voix de l'asphalte by Philip K. Dick