I picked this book as an experimental form of reading. Philip K. Dick, who is famous for his science fiction works including Minority Report, Blade Runner, Total Recall, Paycheck, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? and many more, became my prey. So I picked one of his famous novel Confessions of a Crap Artist which is not a science fiction. My experimentation problem involved to read an author who written books in different genre, and I must say, though I was satisfied when the book got over, but it was not a pleasure to read this particular book.
Confessions of a Crap Artist is one of Philip K. Dick’s weirdest and most accomplished novels but I did not find it accomplished. Jack Isidore, the main protagonist, is a ‘crap artist’ a collector of crackpot ideas (among other things, he believes that the earth is hollow and that sunlight has weight) and worthless objects, a man so grossly unequipped for real life that his sister and brother-in-law feel compelled to rescue him from it. But seen through Jack’s murderously innocent gaze, Charlie and Juddy Hume prove to be just as sealed off from reality, in thrall to obsessions that are slightly more acceptable than Jack’s, but a great deal uglier.
The book starts with a great beginning, the number of characters are limited, and the plot mainly revolves around the life of Hume’s and Jack Isidore, contradicting each other in few ways. As aforesaid, Jack Isidore is considered a dumb, illogical person by his peers but situation turns around and from the Jack Isidore’s eyes a reader can easily see the peers whether in crisis or not share the same level of mentality in some way or the other and are equally dumb and illogical as Jack and they themselves deserve the title of crap artist.
The novel flows with a beauty. But halfway through, it becomes unbearable and it seems like Philip K. Dick diffuse a bomb, to diffuse the beauty of the book. It also feels like Dick is a bit out of his element here. I am glad I am done with it.
2.5 out of 5!