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One of the puzzling aspects of contemporary psychoanalytic life is the ever rising tide of new books. Why is this the case? Is there such an explosion of new knowledge as to warrant what Doctor Johnson referred to as “the epidemical conspiracy for the destruction of paper”? Hardly. In fact many colleagues admit they share my difficulty getting through our literature. Often it seems more and more is said about less and less, in a style—call it “post-modern”—that combines jargon with cant, thereby illustrating the point made long ago by Sir Walter Bagehot: “The reason why so few good books are written is that so few people who write know anything.”
Helen Gediman knows something. She has written a wonderful book which restores one's faith in the printed word as a vehicle for communicating important insights. We see repeatedly the work of a fine mind operating on fascinating and challenging material. The yield is high—both in knowledge and pleasure. What a delight to read this psychoanalytic meditation on the most profound themes of human existence—love, death, resurrection! There is none of the irritating psychoanalytic reductionism which renders so much of applied analysis unreadable. Here, psychoanalytic thinking enlarges our appreciation and understanding. As it happens, I read this book while in Mexico during the nationwide celebration of the Day of the Dead. Much that seemed puzzling and arcane became understandable as I read Dr. Gediman's book. A marvelous feature of Dr. Gediman's writing is that it directly addresses the reader, engaging him or her as a collaborator in the process of questioning and exploration. It is a work of applied analysis with clear implications for clinical practice. I found myself thinking of several patients whose lives seemed organized around