Flow My Tears, the Policeman Said

Jason Taverner wakes up one morning to find that no one remembers him. Some shock for a man familiar to thirty million television watchers.

Of course there was that nasty incident the night before with that no-talent, top-heavy sweetmeat and her Callisto cuddle sponge, but for the life of him Jason Taverner can't figure out what he is doing in a flop joint with a fat roll of legal tender and a conspicuous lack of identification cards.

That's what it would cost, too . . . the life of him, if the pols ever put out the bag at a checkpoint.

Taverner needs help and he needs it fast. Here he is, a TV celebrity, suddenly lurching around a city that can no longer seem to place the name with the face. No wonder the first guy he goes to for an I.D. job draws a paycheck from the L.A. pols. On the sly.

It's a whole new show for Jason Taverner, drool object for millions, now the pea in somebody else's shell game. But how did he get there?

And when he gets out, how did he get there?

Philip K. Dick has taken us on a walking tour of solipsism's scariest margin in this weird novel about moving too fast in a new age, an age far too close to our own.

The first edition hardcover was printed with an invalid ISBN.