They

December 20, 2021
Harsh punishments await anyone bucking society’s norms in this eerie, atmospheric story from English writer Dick (1915–2001) first published in 1977 (before The Two Faces of Robert Just, as Jeremy Scott). The unnamed, ungendered narrator is a writer living on the English coast who spends their time visiting other writers and artists. Meanwhile, a group known only as “they” are bent on destroying art and literature and on punishing artists. The anonymous band lurks in the countryside, pilfering books and artworks, and punishing those who refuse to give up their creative enterprises. When a writer refuses to burn her manuscript, the group severely burns her writing hand. But the attacks are also haphazard and often leave people unscathed, creating uncertainty as artists continue about their business. The narrator, meanwhile, rejects encouragement to give up living alone (“They fear solitary living, therefore envy it,” a friend says), even as “they” become more aggressive. The faceless nature of the antagonists—whose philosophy, goals, and power structures are unspoken—runs counter to other mid-century dystopian tales and leaves space for interpretation. In place of plot, Dick creates a pervasive sense of dread for those who give their lives to art. This unsettling dreamlike endeavor is a worthy rediscovery. Agent: Becky Brown, Curtis Brown Group.

Starred review from February 1, 2022

This stunningly effective dystopian nightmare from 1977 follows a nameless, ungendered protagonist (or multiple protagonists, it isn't clear) as they socialize and shelter with a succession of creative chosen families--artists, writers, musicians, craftspeople--while all around them civilization is being gradually dismantled by an ambiguously menacing horde of Them. "I remembered how they began. A parody for the newspapers," but now their ranks have swollen to millions. Neither zombies nor Morlocks, they go sluggishly from place to place, "relieving their apathy with small acts of vandalism," burning books, art, and the occasional person who refuses to conform to their stultifying, inarticulate new norm. That this desultory descent to an indeterminate dark age is played out against the sparkling shorelines, verdant fields, and rose gardens of a vividly depicted English countryside only adds to the uncanny dread aroused whenever They appear, like clouds blotting out the sun. VERDICT Could there be a more fitting moment for the revival of Dick's uneasy little masterpiece than our own era of isolation, fractious culture wars, widening intolerance, and environmental decline?

Copyright 2022 Library Journal, LLC Used with permission.

February 15, 2022
Told in interconnected vignettes, this novella (originally published in 1977) follows an unnamed narrator who apprehensively treads an uneasy coexistence with a murky, decentralized movement known only as "they." Falling somewhere between a haunting and a populist coup, "they" sweep through England, steadily growing their numbers and targeting artists and intellectuals, in particular, as well as those living alone or apart from partners or in otherwise nontraditional arrangements. Emotional expression is likewise discouraged through violence and through containment at reeducation programs in windowless towers that begin to proliferate like mushrooms after a storm. A tension of glinting malice pervades the narrator's episodic travels through seashore, town, and countryside, the dread of uncertainty tainting the safety of collective gatherings with friends and highlighting the dangers that lurk in simply conducting one's work and life in the world. They melt into shadows and steal into homes, unseen but often detected almost as a disturbance in the atmosphere, destroying books, music, paintings, any and all fruits of creative pursuit. Those who resist are made an example of; they mete out biblical-style punishments--blinding painters, amputating or maiming writers' hands--up to and including execution. They commit random violence against people going about their lives and drive others to madness, self-harm, and suicide in reaction to the strictures placed upon them by this new order, as when the narrator intentionally sprains their ankle to gain a temporary medical dispensation to express pain, allowing them to indulge in "the luxury of going utterly to pieces for forty-eight hours." Although the narrator's gender is never made explicit, there is a liberatory current of queer and nonmonogamous love and desire running counter to the increasingly stifling oppression enacted on the populace. (Dick was herself bisexual and, as noted in Lucy Scholes' afterword to this edition, once declared in a Guardian interview, "Gender is of no bloody account.") The implication that only professional artists appear to be resistant to "their" coercion and brainwashing tactics or that the only creators of note are professionals may rankle, but Dick's dreamlike rendering of virulent conformity and a quotidian bloodthirsty anti-intellectualism still resonate. A timely reissue of English author Dick's slim dystopian fever dream.

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