Conger agreed to kill a stranger he had never seen. But he would make no mistakes because he had the stranger's skull under his arm.

In this wildly disorienting funhouse of a novel, populated by God-like—or perhaps Satanic—takeover artists and corporate psychics, Philip K. Dick explores mysteries that were once the property of St. Paul and Aquinas. His wit, compassion, and knife-edged irony make The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch moving as well as genuinely visionary.

If, after a great struggle, the East were to prevail over the world, what sort of civilization would be imposed by the victors? Would it be an oriental version of the societies we know — or might the great old culture be superimposed upon what was left of western technology?

He fixed things—clocks, refrigerators, vidsenders and destinies. But he had no business in the future, where the calculators could not handle him. He was Earth’s only hope—and its sure failure!

“Who is Silvia? What is she?"

Oh, no!

What is Silvia , . .

and who isn't she?