书名：Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?仿生人会梦见电子羊吗？ 

难度：Lexile蓝思阅读指数490L 

作者：Philip K. Dick菲利普·迪克 

出版社名称：Del Rey 

出版时间：1996 

语种：英文 

ISBN：9780345404473 

商品尺寸：14 x 1.3 x 20.9 cm 

包装：平装 

页数：240★美国科幻鬼才菲利普·迪克享负盛名的作品

★科幻电影史上的经典《银翼杀手》的小说原著 ★ 自然人与仿生人的博弈，对人性和伦理的思考与探索 ★ 星云奖提名作品 ★这是一部不可思议的复杂作品，会激荡起头脑中各种各样的想法。——布莱恩·奥尔迪斯 ★《仿生人会梦见电子羊吗》指出，机器人也有直觉。它们不只是可以飞快运算的机器，它们也会思考、睡觉和做梦。由此引发了一个更大的问题：什么才是人的特质？——金·斯坦利·罗宾逊 “科幻鬼才”菲利普·迪克成长于西方科技文明创造出的崭新辉煌的时代。彼时，人类进入了太空，登上了月球，成功制造出第1台工业用机器人……科技的蓬勃发展也催生出主流科幻小说对人类创造力的无比自信，克拉克、阿西莫夫和海因莱因撑起了西方科幻的黄金时代。可是，迪克却反其道而行之，他的主人公迷惘于亦真亦假的世界上，挣扎于文明的陷落中，充满了对生命的依恋和对人性的追求。 Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?《仿生人会梦见电子羊吗？》是菲利普·迪克享负盛名的作品，小说描述了从一天早晨到第二天早晨的二十多个小时，主人公里克·德卡德为了赏金追杀几个仿生人的过程，历经无数变故，狗血共桃花一色，阴谋与暴力齐飞。小说里的人类受到地球辐射尘的影响，相貌丑陋，很多在心智上都发生了退化，而仿生人却外表堂堂，多才多艺。当仿生人在外表和心智上无限逼近人类，甚至表面上已经超过人类时，人究竟何以为人？ 1982年，菲利普·迪克去世后不久，根据《仿生人会梦见电子羊吗？》改编的电影《银翼杀手》上映，雷德利·斯科特导演。电影笼罩着一种迷离、朦胧、似幻似真的基调，描绘了一个末世大都市洛杉矶，是后世无数赛博朋克电影的鼻祖之作。我是谁？我从哪里来？要到哪里去？对这个哲学命题的探讨，让这部电影成为科幻电影史上的经典之作，也赋予其历久弥新的魅力。2017年，电影续集《银翼杀手2049》上映。关于生存和生命的意义，我们永远没有确切答案。 THE INSPIRATION FOR BLADERUNNER. . . Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? was published in 1968. Grim and foreboding, even today it is a masterpiece ahead of its time. By 2021, the World War had killed millions, driving entire species into extinction and sending mankind off-planet. Those who remained coveted any living creature, and for people who couldn't afford one, companies built incredibly realistic simulacrae: horses, birds, cats, sheep. . . They even built humans. Emigrees to Mars received androids so sophisticated it was impossible to tell them from true men or women. Fearful of the havoc these artificial humans could wreak, the government banned them from Earth. But when androids didn't want to be identified, they just blended in. Rick Deckard was an officially sanctioned bounty hunter whose job was to find rogue androids, and to retire them. But cornered, androids tended to fight back, with deadly results. Praise for Philip K. Dick   “The most consistently brilliant science fiction writer in the world.”—John Brunner   “A kind of pulp-fiction Kafka, a prophet.”—The New York Times

核战后，放射尘让地球上的动物濒临灭绝，地球已不再适合人类居住。为了鼓励残存的人口移民，政府承诺，只要移民到外星球，就为每人自动配备一个仿生人帮助其生活。仿生人不满足于被人类奴役的现状，想方设法逃回地球。

小说主人公里克·德卡德是一名专门追捕逃亡仿生人的赏金猎人。在一次追捕行动中，里克遭遇了新型仿生人前所未有的挑战。九死之后，能否一生？在与仿生人的接触和较量中，里克发现自己对仿生人的看法和态度有了很大的改变。这种改变究竟是福还是祸？ By 2021, the World War has killed millions, driving entire species into extinction and sending mankind off-planet. Those who remain covet any living creature, and for people who can’t afford one, companies built incredibly realistic simulacra: horses, birds, cats, sheep. They’ve even built humans. Immigrants to Mars receive androids so sophisticated they are indistinguishable from true men or women. Fearful of the havoc these artificial humans can wreak, the government bans them from Earth. Driven into hiding, unauthorized androids live among human beings, undetected. Rick Deckard, an officially sanctioned bounty hunter, is commissioned to find rogue androids and “retire” them. But when cornered, androids fight back—with lethal force.

菲利普·迪克（Philip K. Dick），美国科幻文学界的传奇人物，共出版44部长篇小说和121篇短篇小说，曾获雨果奖和坎贝尔奖。作品集中探讨“何为真实”以及“个体身份建构”。代表作有《少数派报告》《尤比克》《仿生人会梦见电子羊吗？》《高堡奇人》《流吧！我的眼泪》等。盛名经久不衰，有多部作品被改编成电影，包括《银翼杀手》《少数派报告》《全面回忆》等，一再催生票房新高。以其名字命名的菲利普·K·迪克奖是美国科幻界的主要奖项之一。

Born in Chicago in 1928, Philip K. Dick would go on to become one of the most celebrated science fiction authors of all time. The author of 44 published novels and 120 short stories, Dick won a Hugo Award in 1963, and a John W. Campbell Memorial Award in 1975, and was nominated five separate times for the Nebula Award. Eleven of his works have been turned into films, including Blade Runner, Total Recall, Minority Report, and A Scanner Darkly. He died in 1982.

chapter 1 A merry little surge of electricity piped by automatic alarm from the mood organ beside his bed awakened Rick Deckard. ­Surprised—it always surprised him to find himself awake without prior notice—­he rose from the bed, stood up in his multicolored pajamas, and stretched. Now, in her bed, his wife Iran opened her gray, unmerry eyes, blinked, then groaned and shut her eyes again. “You set your Penfield too weak,” he said to her. “I’ll reset it and you’ll be awake and—­” “Keep your hand off my settings.” Her voice held bitter sharpness. “I don’t want to be awake.” He seated himself beside her, bent over her, and explained softly. “If you set the surge up high enough, you’ll be glad you’re awake; that’s the whole point. At setting C it overcomes the threshold barring consciousness, as it does for me.” Friendlily, because he felt well-­disposed toward the world—­his setting had been at D—­he patted her bare, pale shoulder. “Get your crude cop’s hand away,” Iran said. “I’m not a cop.” He felt irritable, now, although he hadn’t dialed for it. “You’re worse,” his wife said, her eyes still shut. “You’re a murderer hired by the cops.” “I’ve never killed a human being in my life.” His irritability had risen now; had become outright hostility. Iran said, “Just those poor andys.” “I notice you’ve never had any hesitation as to spending the bounty money I bring home on whatever momentarily attracts your attention.” He rose, strode to the console of his mood organ. “Instead of saving,” he said, “so we could buy a real sheep, to replace that fake electric one upstairs. A mere electric animal, and me earning all that I’ve worked my way up to through the years.” At his console he hesitated between dialing for a thalamic suppressant (which would abolish his mood of rage) or a thalamic stimulant (which would make him irked enough to win the argument). “If you dial,” Iran said, eyes open and watching, “for greater venom, then I’ll dial the same. I’ll dial the maximum and you’ll see a fight that makes every argument we’ve had up to now seem like nothing. Dial and see; just try me.” She rose swiftly, loped to the console of her own mood organ, stood glaring at him, waiting. He sighed, defeated by her threat. “I’ll dial what’s on my schedule for today.” Examining the schedule for January 3, 2021, he saw that a businesslike professional attitude was called for. “If I dial by schedule,” he said warily, “will you agree to also?” He waited, canny enough not to commit himself until his wife had agreed to follow suit. “My schedule for today lists a six-­hour self-­accusatory depression,” Iran said. “What? Why did you schedule that?” It defeated the whole purpose of the mood organ. “I didn’t even know you could set it for that,” he said gloomily. “I was sitting here one afternoon,” Iran said, “and naturally I had turned on ‘Buster Friendly and His Friendly Friends’ and he was talking about a big news item he’s about to break and then that awful commercial came on, the one I hate; you know, for Mountibank Lead Codpieces. And so for a minute I shut off the sound. And I heard the building, this building; I heard the—­” She gestured. “Empty apartments,” Rick said. Sometimes he heard them at night when he was supposed to be asleep. And yet, for this day and age a one-­half occupied conapt building rated high in the scheme of population density; out in what had been before the war the suburbs, one could find buildings entirely empty . . . or so he had heard. He had let the information remain secondhand; like most people he did not care to experience it directly.