There is a plethora of books on psychoanalysis nowadays. Some are good, and one naturally wishes to acknowledge their appearance with appropriate words of welcome and appraise their place in our ever-growing scientific literature. Some are bad, and one wishes to pass them over with a reluctant nod or a reserved acknowledgment of the authors' honest, if miscarried, efforts. But some are neither good nor bad. They have titles, names of authors or editors, prefaces and introductions, publishers' colophons—and yet they are not really books but booklike productions which are very puzzling. They have no content of their own, no originality, no synthesis. One is seriously tempted to pass them over in disrespectful silence, but one cannot do that because of an obligation to readers, and one simply has to tell these readers what the warp and woof of these compilations are, dispel the confusion which might be created, and clear up some serious misconceptions with which the readers are showered.