{"id":8790,"date":"2014-11-15T12:12:15","date_gmt":"2014-11-15T12:12:15","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.eoisabi.org\/?p=8790"},"modified":"2020-04-04T16:43:11","modified_gmt":"2020-04-04T16:43:11","slug":"do-androids-dream-of-electric-sheep-p-k-dick","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/?p=8790","title":{"rendered":"Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?"},"content":{"rendered":"
1928 – 1982<\/em><\/h6>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?<\/em><\/strong><\/a> is a science fiction novel by American writer Philip K. Dick<\/strong> first published in 1968. The main plot follows Rick Deckard, a bounty hunter of androids, while the secondary plot follows John Isidore, a man of sub-normal intelligence who befriends some of the androids.
\nThe novel is set in a post-apocalyptic near future, where the Earth and its populations have been damaged greatly by Nuclear War during World War Terminus. Most types of animals are endangered or extinct due to extreme radiation poisoning from the war. To own an animal is a sign of status, but what is emphasized more is the empathic emotions humans experience towards an animal.
\nDeckard is faced with \u00abretiring\u00bb six escaped Nexus-6 model androids, the latest and most advanced model. Because of this task, the novel explores the issue of what it is to be human. Unlike humans, the androids possess no empathic sense. In essence, Deckard probes the existence of defining qualities that separate humans from androids.\u00a0The book’s plot served as the primary basis for the 1982 film Blade Runner<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

\u2022 \u00a0read\u00a0\u2191<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>\u00a0 (Part ONE)<\/strong><\/p>\n

A merry little surge of electricity piped by automatic alarm from the mood organ beside his bed awakened Rick Deckard. Surprised \u2014 it always surprised him to find himself awake without prior notice \u2014 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.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abYou set your Penfield too weak he said to her. \u00abI’ll reset it and you’ll be awake and \u2014 \u00ab<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abKeep your hand off my settings.\u00bb Her voice held bitter sharpness. \u00abI don’t want to be awake.\u00bb<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 He seated himself beside her, bent over her, and explained softly. \u00abIf 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.\u00bb Friendlily, because he felt well-disposed toward the world his setting had been at D \u2014 he patted her bare, pate shoulder.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abGet your crude cop’s hand away,\u00bb Iran said.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abI’m not a cop \u2014 \u00bb He felt irritable, now, although he hadn’t dialed for it.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abYou’re worse,\u00bb his wife said, her eyes still shut. \u00abYou’re a murderer hired by the cops. \u00a0 \u00abI’ve never killed a human being in my life.\u00bb His irritability had risen, now; had become outright hostility.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 Iran said, \u00abJust those poor andys.\u00bb<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0\u00abI notice you’ve never had any hesitation as to spending the bounty money I bring home on whatever momentarily attracts your attention.\u00bb He rose, strode to the console of his mood organ. \u00abInstead of saving,\u00bb he said, \u00abso 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.\u00bb 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).<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abIf you dial,\u00bb Iran said, eyes open and watching, \u00abfor 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.\u00bb She rose swiftly, loped to the console of her own mood organ, stood glaring at him, waiting.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 He sighed, defeated by her threat. \u00abI’ll dial what’s on my schedule for today.\u00bb Examining the schedule for January 3, 1992, he saw that a businesslike professional attitude was called for. \u00abIf I dial by schedule,\u00bb he said warily, \u00abwill you agree to also?\u00bb He waited, canny enough not to commit himself until his wife had agreed to follow suit.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abMy schedule for today lists a six-hour self-accusatory depression,\u00bb Iran said.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abWhat? Why did you schedule that?\u00bb It defeated the whole purpose of the mood organ. \u00abI didn’t even know you could set it for that,\u00bb he said gloomily.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abI was sitting here one afternoon,\u00bb Iran said, \u00aband naturally I had tamed 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 \u2014 \u00bb She gestured.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abEmpty apartments,\u00bb 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.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abAt that moment,\u00bb Iran said, \u00abwhen I had the TV sound off, I was in a 382 mood; I had just dialed it. So although I heard the emptiness intellectually, I didn’t feel it. My first reaction consisted of being grateful that we could afford a Penfield mood organ. But then I read how unhealthy it was, sensing the absence of life, not just in this building but everywhere, and not reacting \u2014 do you see? I guess you don’t. But that used to be considered a sign of mental illness; they called it ‘absence of appropriate affect.’ So I left the TV sound off and I sat down at my mood organ and I experimented. And I finally found a setting for despair.\u00bb Her dark, pert face showed satisfaction, as if she had achieved something of worth. \u00abSo I put it on my schedule for twice a month; I think that’s a reasonable amount of time to feel hopeless about everything, about staying here on Earth after everybody who’s small has emigrated, don’t you think?\u00bb<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abBut a mood like that,\u00bb Rick said, \u00abyou’re apt to stay in it, not dial your way out. Despair like that, about total reality, is self-perpetuating.\u00bb<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abI program an automatic resetting for three hours later,\u00bb his wife said sleekly. \u00abA 481. Awareness of the manifold possibilities open to me in the future; new hope that \u2014 \u00ab<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abI know 481,\u00bb he interrupted. He had dialed out the combination many times; he relied on it greatly. \u00abListen,\u00bb he said, seating himself on his bed and taking hold of her hands to draw her down beside him, \u00abeven with an automatic cutoff it’s dangerous to undergo a depression, any kind. Forget what you’ve scheduled and I’ll forget what I’ve scheduled; we’ll dial a 104 \u00a0together and both experience it, and then you stay in it while I reset mine for my usual businesslike attitude. That way I’ll want to hop up to the roof and check out the sheep and then head for the office; meanwhile I’ll know you’re not sitting here brooding with no TV.\u00bb He released her slim, long fingers, passed through the spacious apartment to the living room, which smelled faintly of last night’s cigarettes. There he bent to turn on the TV.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 From the bedroom Iran’s voice came. \u00abI can’t stand TV before breakfast.\u00bb<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abDial 888,\u00bb Rick said as the set warmed. \u00abThe desire to watch TV, no matter what’s on it.\u00bb<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abI don’t feel like dialing anything at all now,\u00bb Iran said.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abThen dial 3,\u00bb he said.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abI can’t dial a setting that stimulates my cerebral cortex into wanting to dial! If I don’t want to dial, I don’t want to dial that most of all, because then I will want to dial, and wanting to dial is right now the most alien drive I can imagine; I just want to sit here on the bed and stare at the floor.\u00bb Her voice had become sharp with overtones of bleakness as her soul congealed and she ceased to move, as the instinctive, omnipresent film of great weight, of an almost absolute inertia, settled over her.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 He turned up the TV sound, and the voice of Buster Friendly boomed out and filled the room. \u00bb \u2014 ho ho, folks. Time now for a brief note on today’s weather. The Mongoose satellite reports that fallout will be especially pronounced toward noon and will then taper off, so all you folks who’ll be venturing out \u2014 \u00ab<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 Appearing beside him, her long nightgown trailing wispily, Iran shut off the TV set. \u00abOkay, I give up; I’ll dial. Anything you want me to be; ecstatic sexual bliss \u2014 I feel so bad I’ll even endure that. What the hell. What difference does it make?\u00bb<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abI’ll dial for both of us, Rick said, and led her back into the bedroom. There, at her console, he dialed 594: pleased acknowledgment of husband’s superior wisdom in all matters. On his own console he dialed for a creative and fresh attitude toward his job, although this he hardly needed; such was his habitual, innate approach without recourse to Penfield artificial brain stimulation.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 After a hurried breakfast \u2014 he had lost time due to the discussion with his wife \u2014 he ascended clad for venturing out, including his Ajax model Mountibank Lead Codpiece, to the covered roof pasture whereon his electric sheep \u00abgrazed.\u00bb Whereon it, sophisticated piece of hardware that it was, chomped away in simulated contentment, bamboozling the other tenants of the building.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 Of course, some of their animals undoubtedly consisted of electronic circuitry fakes, too; \u00a0he had of course never nosed into the matter, any more than they, his neighbors, had pried into the real workings of his sheep. Nothing could be more impolite. To say, \u00abIs your sheep genuine?\u00bb would be a worse breach of manners than to inquire whether a citizen’s teeth, \u00a0hair, or internal organs would test out authentic.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 The morning air, spilling over with radioactive motes, gray and sun \u2014 beclouding, belched about him, haunting his nose; fie sniffed involuntarily the taint of death. Well, that was too strong a description for it, he decided as he made his way to the particular plot of sod which he owned along with the unduly large apartment below. The legacy of World War Terminus had diminished in potency; those who could not survive the dust had passed into oblivion years ago, and the dust, weaker now and confronting the strong survivors, only deranged minds and genetic properties. Despite his lead codpiece the dust \u2014 undoubtedly \u2014 filtered\u00a0in and at him, brought him daily, so long as he failed to emigrate, its little load of befouling filth. So far, medical checkups taken monthly confirmed him as a regular: a man who could reproduce within the tolerances set by law. Any month, however, the exam by the San Francisco Police Department doctors could reveal otherwise. Continually, new specials came into existence, created out of regulars by the omnipresent dust. The saying currently \u00a0labbed by posters, TV ads, and government junk mail, ran: \u00abEmigrate or degenerate! The choice is yours! \u00ab<\/p>\n

Very true, Rick thought as he opened the gate to his little pasture and approached his electric sheep. But I can’t emigrate, he said to himself. Because of my job.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 The owner of the adjoining pasture, his conapt neighbor Bill Barbour, hailed him; he, like Rick, had dressed for work but had stopped off on the way to check his animal, too.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abMy horse,\u00bb Barbour declared beamingly, \u00abis pregnant.\u00bb He indicated the big Percheron, which stood staring off in an empty fashion into space. \u00abWhat do you say to that?\u00bb<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abI say pretty soon you’ll have two horses,\u00bb Rick said. He had reached his sheep, now; it lay ruminating, its alert eyes fixed on him in case he had brought any rolled oats with him. The alleged sheep contained an oat-tropic circuit; at the sight of such cereals it would scramble up convincingly and amble over. \u00abWhat’s she pregnant by?\u00bb he asked Barbour. \u00abThe wind?\u00bb<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abI bought some of the highest quality fertilizing plasma available in California,\u00bb Barbour informed him. \u00abThrough inside contacts I have with the State Animal Husbandry Board. Don’t you remember last week when their inspector was out here examining Judy? They’re eager to have her foal; she’s an unmatched superior.\u00bb Barbour thumped his horse fondly on the neck and she inclined her head toward him.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abEver thought of selling your horse?\u00bb Rick asked. He wished to god he had a horse, in fact any animal. Owning and maintaining a fraud had a way of gradually demoralizing one. And yet from a social standpoint it had to be done, given the absence of the real article. He had therefore no choice except to continue. Even were he not to care himself, there remained his wife, and Iran did care. Very much.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 Barbour said, \u00abIt would be immoral to sell my horse.\u00bb<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abSell the colt, then. Having two animals is more immoral than not having any.\u00bb<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 Puzzled, Barbour said, \u00abHow do you mean? A lot of people have two animals, even three, four, and like in the case of Fred Washborne, who owns the algae-processing plant my brother works at, even five. Didn’t you see that article about his duck in yesterday’s Chronicle? It’s supposed to be the heaviest, largest Moscovy on the West Coast.\u00bb The man’s eyes glazed over, imagining such possessions; he drifted by degrees into a trance.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 Exploring about in his coat pockets, Rick found his creased, much-studied copy of Sidney’s Animal & Fowl Catalogue January supplement. He looked in the index, found colts \u00a0(vide horses, offsp.) and presently had the prevailing national price. \u00abI can buy a Percheron colt from Sidney’s for five thousand dollars,\u00bb he said aloud.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abNo you can’t,\u00bb Barbour said. \u00abLook at the listing again; it’s in italics. That means they don’t \u00a0have any in stock, but that would be the price if they did have.\u00bb<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abSuppose,\u00bb Rick said, \u00abI pay you five hundred dollars a month for ten months. Full \u00a0catalogue value.\u00bb<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 Pityingly, Barbour said, \u00abDeckard, you don’t understand about horses; there’s a reason why Sidney’s doesn’t have any Percheron colts in stock. Percheron colts just don’t change hands \u2014 at catalogue value, even. They’re too scarce, even relatively inferior ones.\u00bb He leaned across their common fence, gesticulating. \u00abI’ve had Judy for three years and not in all that time have I seen a Percheron mare of her quality. To acquire her I had to fly to Canada, and I personally drove her back here myself to make sure she wasn’t stolen. You bring an animal like this anywhere around Colorado or Wyoming and they’ll knock you off to get hold<\/p>\n

of it. You know why? Because back before W.W.T. there existed literally hundreds \u2014 \u00ab<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abBut,\u00bb Rick interrupted, \u00abfor you to have two horses and me none, that violates the whole basic theological and moral structure of Mercerism.\u00bb<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abYou have your sheep; hell, you can follow the Ascent in your individual life, and when you grasp the two handles of empathy you approach honorably. Now if you didn’t have that old sheep, there, I’d see some logic in your position. Sure, if I had two animals and you didn’t have any, I’d be helping deprive you of true fusion with Mercer. But every family in this \u00a0building \u2014 let’s see; around fifty: one to every three apts, as I compute it \u2014 every one of us has an animal of some sort. Graveson has that chicken over there.\u00bb He gestured north.<\/p>\n

\u00abOakes and his wife have that big red dog that barks in the night.\u00bb He pondered. \u00abI think Ed Smith has a cat down in his apt; \u00a0\u2014 at least he says so, but no one’s ever seen it. Possibly he’s just pretending.\u00bb<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 Going over to his sheep, Rick bent down, searching in the thick white wool \u2014 the fleece at least was genuine \u2014 until he found what he was looking for: the concealed control panel of the mechanism. As Barbour watched he snapped open the panel covering, revealing it.<\/p>\n

\u00abSee?\u00bb he said to Barbour. \u00abYou understand now why I want your colt so badly?\u00bb<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 After an interval Barbour said, \u00abYou poor guy. Has it always been this way?\u00bb<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abNo,\u00bb Rick said, once again closing the panel covering of his electric sheep; he straightened up, turned, and faced his neighbor. \u00abI had a real sheep, originally. My wife’s father gave it to us outright when he emigrated. Then, about a year ago, remember that time I took it to the vet \u2014 you were up here that morning when I came out and found it lying on its side and it couldn’t get up.\u00bb<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abYou got it to its feet,\u00bb Barbour said, remembering and nodding. \u00abYeah, you managed to lift it up but then after a minute or two of walking around it fell over again.\u00bb<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 Rick said, \u00abSheep get strange diseases. Or put another way, sheep get a lot of diseases but the symptoms are always the same; the sheep can’t get up and there’s no way to tell how serious it is, whether it’s a sprained leg or the animal’s dying of tetanus. That’s what mine died of; tetanus.\u00bb<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abUp here?\u00bb Barbour said. \u00abOn the roof?\u00bb<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abThe hay,\u00bb Rick explained. \u00abThat one time I didn’t get all the wire off the bale; I left a piece and Groucho \u2014 that’s what I called him, then \u2014 got a scratch and in that way contracted tetanus. I took him to the vet’s and he died, and I thought about it, and finally I called one of those shops that manufacture artificial animals and I showed them a photograph of Groucho.<\/p>\n

They made this.\u00bb He indicated the reclining ersatz animal, which continued to ruminate attentively, still watching alertly for any indication of oats. \u00abIt’s a premium job. And I’ve put as much time and attention into caring for it as I did when it was real. But \u2014 \u00bb He shrugged.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abIt’s not the same,\u00bb Barbour finished.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abBut almost. You feel the same doing it; you have to keep your eye on it exactly as you did when it was really alive. Because they break down and then everyone in the building knows. I’ve had it at the repair shop six times, mostly little malfunctions, but if anyone saw them \u2014 for instance one time the voice tape broke or anyhow got fouled and it wouldn’t stop baaing \u2014 they’d recognize it as a mechanical breakdown.\u00bb He added, \u00abThe repair outfit’s truck is of course marked ‘animal hospital something.’ And the driver dresses like a vet, completely in \u00a0white.\u00bb He glanced suddenly at his watch, remembering the time. \u00abI have to get to work,\u00bb he \u00a0said to Barbour. \u00abI’ll see you this evening.\u00bb<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 As he started toward his car Barbour called after him hurriedly, \u00abUm, I won’t say anything to anybody here in the building.\u00bb<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 Pausing, Rick started to say thanks. But then something of the despair that Iran had been talking about tapped him on the shoulder and he said, \u00abI don’t know; maybe it doesn’t make any difference.\u00bb<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abBut they’ll look down on you. Not all of them, but some. You know how people are about not taking care of an animal; they consider it immoral and anti-empathic. I mean, technically it’s not a crime like it was right after W. .T. but the feeling’s still there.\u00bb<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abGod,\u00bb Rick said futilely, and gestured empty-handed. \u00abI want to have an animal; I keep trying to buy one. But on my salary, on what a city employee makes \u2014 \u00bb If, he thought, I could get lucky in my work again. As I did two years ago when I managed to bag four andys during \u00a0one month. If I had known then, he thought, that Groucho was going to die . . . but that had \u00a0een before the tetanus. Before the two-inch piece of broken, hypodermic-like baling wire.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abYou could buy a cat,\u00bb Barbour offered. \u00abCats are cheap; look in your Sidney’s catalogue.\u00bb<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 Rick said quietly, \u00abI don’t want a domestic pet. I want what I originally had, a large animal.<\/p>\n

A sheep or if I can get the money a cow or a steer or what you have; a horse.\u00bb The bounty from retiring five andys would do it, he realized. A thousand dollars apiece, over and above my salary. Then somewhere I could find, from someone, what I want. Even if the listing in Sidney’s Animal & Fowl is in italics. Five thousand dollars \u2014 but, he thought, the five andys first have to make their way to Earth from one of the colony planets; I can’t control that, I can’t make five of them come here, and even if I could there are other bounty hunters with other police agencies throughout the world. The andys would specifically have to take up\u00a0residence in Northern California, and the senior bounty hunter in this area, Dave Holden, would have to die or retire.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abBuy a cricket,\u00bb Barbour suggested wittily. \u00abOr a mouse. Hey, for twenty-five bucks you can buy a full-grown mouse.\u00bb<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 Rick said, \u00abYour horse could die, like Groucho died, without warning. When you get home from work this evening you could find her laid out on her back, her feet in the air, like a bug. Like what you said, a cricket.\u00bb He strode off, car key in his hand.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00abSorry if I offended you,\u00bb Barbour said.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 In silence Rick Deckard plucked open the door of his hovercar. He had nothing further to say to his neighbor; his mind was on his work, on the day ahead.<\/p>\n

TWO<\/p>\n

In a giant, empty, decaying building which had once housed thousands, a single TV set hawked its wares to an uninhabited room . . .<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Directed by Ridley Scott<\/strong>\u00a0[1982] – Starring Harrison Ford & Sean Young.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

1928 – 1982 <\/p>\n

\n

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? is a science fiction novel by American writer Philip K. Dick first published in 1968. The main plot follows Rick Deckard, a bounty hunter of androids, while the secondary plot follows John Isidore, a man of sub-normal intelligence who befriends some […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":28,"featured_media":8791,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[170],"tags":[263,313,175],"class_list":["post-8790","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-stories","tag-mod_classics","tag-america","tag-story","odd"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8790","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/28"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=8790"}],"version-history":[{"count":34,"href":"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8790\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":51619,"href":"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8790\/revisions\/51619"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/8791"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=8790"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=8790"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=8790"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}