Many books about psychoanalysis deserve to be called good. This book easily surpasses that standard, and achieves what is rare in polemics against established psychoanalysis: it is useful. The initial chapters satirize the comings and goings of analysts who style themselves 'radical,' exposing a drift into insular esoteric circlejerks whenever the essential component of the cure is eliminated. Her invocation of the Wolf Man case alone is iconic, highlighting the unique status he acquired as the first analysand to be paid for his services to psychoanalysis. The final chapter points the way to a psychoanalysis that wouldn't look down on happiness; for this, she turns to Groddeck (whom she lovingly refers to as a 'troll') and his utopian demand for the id to get its due. For Clement
"With Freud the pimple never goes away, you know it. It hardens, becomes a permanent excrescence, and will become part of the human being, pimply forever, indelibly marked, forever. You’re the one I love, Groddeck, all you past and present Groddecks. You with your clown-like name, you who wrote wonderful letters to doctors so that they would be encouraged to really treat people because, of course, you thought it was possible to be cured. For even though you knew where that medical passion of yours was coming from, even though you were aware of its paternal origins, you didn’t give a damn, you moved to a new practice in the art of healing."
With this critique of Freud's acceptance of excrescence, Clement skewers those elements of the psychoanalytic establishment that are content to rest on a tragic aesthetic, that have forgotten how to laugh. If we wish to embrace the vocation of a healer, we must not be afraid to be seen as clowns, Clement seems to be suggesting.
This book will take a while to sink in, so I hope to revise this review as my understanding of her argument gets clearer.