Philip K. Dick was my favorite author in the 70s, at the time are made up my literary tastes, and not as some say that "Ubik" is one of the 5 most important books in the history of Humanity, it is certain that I kept the memory of the attendance of acute pleasure afforded me the conceptual challenges and paranoid phildickiens games. Emmanuel Carrère has for some years one of my favorite writers, who seems able to sublimate his biographies in anyone's life, be it criminal or artist (or both ...). The idea of reading the bio Dick by Carrère, even knowing that it is a work "Youth" was logically compelling me, and unless I have to say is that "I 'm Alive and You Are Dead "gave me intense pleasure, that of reunion with an old friend of my adolescence, with its eternal jokes with his delusions (today it would be called" mindf *** s ") devilishly attractive. Reunion masterfully orchestrated with the obvious complicity of Carrère who takes up the cause of the polymorphic schizophrenia Dick: whatever the truth of the biographical elements - Carrère use seems quite "poetic license" to always match each step Dick's life with the content of the novels compounds at the same time - because the terrain that plow this book, it is obviously that of the mental universe of the "most strikeout genius" SF Each chapter of "I Alive ... "Dick sees quite pitifully mired in its ridiculous love stories in his drug more intensively, in the infantile desire for celebrity that will always escape it extensively, and then acts as a additional round nut, to deprive us of all hope (... but also any desire ...) to find a day the way out. The path of life, reality, reason, the output of the literary production of Dick's book Carrère himself. For the brilliant idea of "I'm Alive ...", it's still to extract some of the key novels of Dick the quintessence of his paranoid concepts - visionary and not be afraid to say - to apply them to his / our reality, and finally renchérir from its playful postulate of departure: Carrère for as phildickien for the true fan, the "penultimate" joke is that Dick was indeed the Prophet twentieth century, clearly also barjo and also illuminated a Nazarene trafficker hallucinogenic mushrooms, but much more relevant than him. And it has indeed raised for our greatest joy and our greatest terror, the veil. He showed us that no one should ever see: face convulsed with hatred of God, in heaven. After that, no possible return, each of us must now resign himself to a regular glimpse the terrible stigma of Palmer Eldritch, history never to forget that, in fact, we are all DEAD.