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When you're reading Silverberg you can count on one thing - it's gonna be a weird ride. The Nebula winner for 1971 delivers on that promise (even though The Lathe of Heaven is, in one's humble opinion, is a better book).
The world building is exquisite, and the hunt scene is a nice example of an especially well designed world - but it's almost inconsequential to the novel and the story line itself. The real action is within the souls of the nicely shaped out characters - the world is build just so they have somewhere to live :)
The book is written as a memoir, so the ending is spoiled intentionally from the very beginning. It describes a self-effacing culture, where the first person singular pronouns are considered gutter speak, where one must subdue and hide oneself constantly, even from friends, even from family, even from spouse. Of course our hero, a self styled messiah, tries to disrupt this status quo - and since the ending is a bit ambiguous, his success is not guaranteed. The modus of disruption involves - as everything in the late '60's - drugs.