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Edit: August, 2019 November, 2016 (I read this the first time four years ago, so, re-read re-write review below)

'A Scanner Darkly' by Philip K. Dick is a barely disguised expose of the world of druggies. The science fiction elements in the fictional plot are simply a platform PKD uses to write what is basically a polemical novel about the destruction of the body and brain from a hypothetical drug, Substance "D". The drug happens to mirror actual drug destruction from addictions.

I liked the book, but it's a druggie book more than any other category or style or genre. It is a very clever accurate intelligent insider druggie book, which analyzes the slow slide of drug-ignorant people from the middle-class who become addicted to a new fictional drug. Their brains slowly rot into compost from extended use because they initially wanted a feeling or a knowledge of some kind temporarily induced by drugs. Fictional as this drug is in the story, many of its effects on addicts are clearly based on very real world observations of actual drug addicts.

Reality isn't good enough or too painful or boring for many of the book's characters, and drugs are a fast and easy relief. Addiction sneaks up on them.

PDK, whom I adore and I'm a huge fan, I suspect has written a disguised self-analysis and autobiography in writing'A Scanner Darkly'. He introduces a science-fiction plot mechanism, the made-up drug called Substance D, to explore what I know is the real-life general world of drug use which I have observed in my real world.

The fictional 'D' drug acts to bifurcate the brain so that the left hemisphere can't communicate or synthesize information with the right hemisphere of the brain. This bifurcation is an actual real-world condition, which in 1977, when this book was written, was being studied. Surgeons were cutting out the brain parts which allowed the two brain hemispheres to communicate. It was an experimental effort to save the lives of some epileptics. Later, scientists developed tests that allowed them to see the odd functioning of the brain after this surgery. PDK uses some of the real effects of this surgery to highlight how drugs, especially his Substance D (D is for death), can appear to reveal insight into the self while in actuality the drug is eating your brain.


Personal insights and prejudices ahead:

I grew up in an abusive home with addicted and mentally ill parents. Plus I was a young adult in the late 1960's and 1970's, so I know of the environment of the time period in which PKD wrote this novel.

Being a child of addicted neglectful abusive parents as I was is HELL. I barely survived my childhood. Even though both parents died before I was 31, and my dad, the more responsible one, kept a roof over our heads,

I. STILL. hate. them.

Gentle reader, do you understand what I am saying as honest as I can?

I am, as a result of my childhood, not a fan of consistent and constant use of illegal drugs or prescribed pain killers, although I am not, peculiarly I admit, a teetotaler or rigidly against occasional recreational use. I really appreciate aspirin and wine. I do not have an addictive personality as it turned out. I originally thought of drug use as strictly an issue of personal responsibility back in the day, but I did not know then about genetic inheritance or about Big Pharma manipulations. Today, I think if both sides of your family have addictions, for your own sake, don't drink or use drugs.


Addicted people have altered neuron cells and brain chemistry, which sometimes is permanent, and emotionally-numbed brains, so they do not quite understand how their addictions destroy all of the people connected to them. Lies come easy to them due to no moral filtering left in their fogged thinking and desperate need. Do not make the mistake of trusting them closer than a mile away from your life, no matter their promises or pleas. Love them if you still have enough left, but don't be a fool. The person you once knew is more than likely destroyed. Permanently.

Maybe I'm not the best person to write opinions about addiction because I don't have a true understanding of drug-addict addictions, maybe, except for being on the receiving end of addicted persons' activities and crimes. Maybe I don't have the classic addictive personality. Plus, I quit my addiction.

I smoked cigarettes for 11 years, and it was a BITCH to quit, but when the benefits became less than than costs, I quit. I couldn't do it cold turkey, I had to substitute. I loved a certain brand, so I switched to a brand I hated, but with the same nicotine content. Over two years, I kept switching brands to lower and lower nicotine brands until the nicotine was down to 2 mm, which is the same as the gum. Then I went to the gum. To my complete shock and surprise, I needed to chew three pieces for half a day, while drinking coffee, and suddenly I was done with cigarettes. I got really good at spinning writing pens because I needed to have a pen in my fingers to play with. Later, I began knitting. Now I'm a medium-good knitter.

My only other vice (that I know of - looking in my glass, darkly) is books, which seems to be about MY boredom, fears, angst, etc. with reality. The harms my book addiction has inflicted on others around me seem to arise from my being insufferably logical and very annoying because I urge them to read a favorite book a lot.

Like most big city childhoods, drugs were in the air I breathed growing up, but seeing the living wreckage sleeping it off in city alleyways as well as the after-school parties where my friends woke up not remembering where their cars were or who the fathers were of their unexpected early pregnancies (goodbye college), drug culture did not appeal. Whenever I was bored, I read a book. Whenever I was angry, I ran around the track or the block.

In high school and as a single young adult, and because druggies are ALWAYS pushers of drugs, I tried stuff promoted by friends and acquaintances and dates. The drugs often made me puking sick. Being by nature a cowardly social wimp, I learned how to dump druggie things down sinks and into potted plants and learned the names of clear drinks that appeared to be water, which I actually was drinking. I learned to hold capsules in my cheek, which I followed up by clapping my hand to mouth to laugh explosively, secretly spitting out whatever. As a result of my efforts to avoid the dreadful puking, head-spinning, digestive sickness, muscle aching and sweating suckness of drug use, I was shocked and entertained by the behaviors of my peers who were out of their minds with what they saw as pleasure, and I saw as good material for stories. Sometimes they were insane and unable to settle, off and running to do 'fun' stuff like tear up the school grounds (and my track, GD them!) with their cars, or sat around asleep for 4 hours while I read a book on the couch, watching them drool, piss, or shit or eat ten bags of chitos. Interesting. However, I was finished with being charitable when I came home and my roommate had my cat in a paper bag, trapped, and he was being forced to breathe hashish smoke being blown into the bag. He never was ok, but mental after that, and he ended up being put to sleep. The music stopped for me.

I can still fake having charity to the addicted druggies out of politeness and sometimes caring. However, I get triggered, so. PTSD sucks.

The title of this book, 'A Scanner Darkly', is actually referencing a Bible verse, a version which I have reprinted below:

1Corinthians 13

    1  Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. 2  And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. 3  And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing. 
    4  Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, 5  Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; 6  Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; 7  Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. 
    8  Charity never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. 9  For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. 10  But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. 11  When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. 12  For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. 13  And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity. 

I thought I'd put the whole thing in there. The fact the verse is so much about charity, as well as seeing imperfectly in fact what we think we see perfectly, well. Ok, then.

For the record, I'm not a teetotaler, or against recreational usage.