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Kohut has done for narcissism what the novelist Charles Dickens did for poverty in the 19th century. Everyone always knew that both existed and were a problem; all have suffered the twinges of conscience that more was not done and known, both authors use what is already public knowledge. The undoubted originality is to have put is together in a form which carries appeal to action.
The book, then, invites a slightly naive approach, as though seeing it all for the first time. Since it is written from the heart, there is a welcome absence of obsessive attribution and historical credit notes, but also, correspondingly, this makes it less a scholarly work and more a work of popularization. Hard though it is to read, it achieves this purpose and comes over in a very direct and sincere way.
The author's feeling of personal discovery and shared enthusiasm naturally extends to sources. Kohut has drawn these from a compound of analytic experience with adults, which has to be personal, and a personal use of reading and of concepts. In Great Britain it will appear remiss