"You are an unusual man, Mr. Asher," the cop beside him said. "Crazy or not, whatever it is that has gone wrong with you, you are one of a kind. This is not an ordinary kind of insanity. This is not like anything I have ever seen or heard before. You talk about the whole universe—more than the universe, if that is possible. You impress me and in a way you frighten me." —Philip K. Dick, Flow My Tears, The Policeman Said Lately I have been re-reading all my Philip K. Dick books, but not for fun. It's for instructions. You could say it with less enthusiasm and more accuracy every year, but the world of right now—with Occupy, Wikileaks, killer drones, advertisements that know your name and where you live—is uncomfortably close to the futures Dick wrote about. (Second place: John Brunner.) It feels like the first third of any of his major novels, the grind-you-down Earth of the Joe Fernwrights and the Nicholas Bradys, where the little guy realizes anew just how little he really is. That's