This is one of Philip K. Dick's earlier stories that was unpublished until a few years ago. I found this in one of those giant book-overstock stores that's open for a while until they run out of inventory or money to rent the storefront. Fitting, considering certain elements of this story.
Except for the fact that the story is set in 1952, the characters and the plot of this book could just as well be found today. In fact, there were moments where conversations between characters seemed like something one might overhear on the streets right this very moment. It's fascinating how little has changed since the 50s in regards to religion, politics, and especially the mixture of the two.
The story itself is the descent of a young man, typical of the age, or any age, into animalistic fury. He's a dreamer, stuck in a salesman job he hates, looking for meaning in his life while feeling stuck by the trappings of society. He starts to look for another way, tries out the big new religion sweeping through town, tries to drown himself in drink, even tries to become the most perfect everyday citizen; but it all leads him deeper and deeper into the hole of unfulfillment he digs for himself. Things get dark, incredibly, wickedly dark.
That's the genius of Dick's writing. He creates this vividly descriptive world and pulls you in, then takes you into the darkest workings of the human mind. He would later use science fiction to explore these emotions, playing with allegory and metaphor, but early on he wrote bleak, starkly contrasting reality, and it's terrifying.
