Promises, Promises: Essays on Psychoanalysis and Literature

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Basic Books, 16 de juny 2009 - 400 pÓgines
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As an essayist, Adam Phillips combines the best of two worlds: a mastery of psychotherapy as both practitioner and theorist, and a reputation as one of the best literary writers around. In this collection of essays, he brings these two gifts to bear upon each other, speculating on the relative merits of psychoanalysis and literature and on the connections between them. In his quirky, epigrammatic style, Phillips shows us how psychoanalysis and literature at their best share the goal of shedding light on human character, the most fascinating of disorders. Promises, Promises reveals Phillips as a virtuoso performer able to reach far beyond the borders of psychoanalytic discourse, into art, novels, poetry, and history. This collection gives us insights into Martin Amis's Night Train, Nijinsky's diary, Tom Stoppard and A. E. Housman, Amy Clampitt, the effect of the Blitz on Londoners, and a case history of clutter. It confirms Phillips as a writer whose work, in the words of the Guardian, "hovers in a strange and haunting borderland between rigour and delight."

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Promises, promises: essays on literature and psychoanalysis

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Phillips, a well-known psychotherapist and literary critic, believes that the "talking cure" of psychoanalysis, dependent as it is upon language, is inextricably linked to literature. Accordingly, he ... Llegeix la ressenya completa

Continguts

Poetry and Psychoanalysis
1
Roaring Boy
226
Frederick Seidels New Poetry
238
Coming to Grief
257
Editing Housman
268
On Eating and Preferring Not To
282
The Pragmatics of Passion
296
Farbers Quibble
310
Prynne Collected
322
Sameness is All
334
Nijinskys New Diary
342
Doing Heads
358
Promises Promises
364
Acknowledgements
376
Copyright

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Passatges populars

PÓgina 79 - He then, in a strain of humour beyond description, abused me for putting Newton's head into my picture; "a fellow", said he, "who believed nothing unless it was as clear as the three sides of a triangle".
PÓgina 73 - Good my lord, will you see the players well bestowed ? Do you hear, let them be well used, for they are the abstract and brief chronicles of the time : after your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live.
PÓgina 75 - Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass: and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think, I am easier to be played on than a pipe...
PÓgina 36 - Ash on an old man's sleeve Is all the ash the burnt roses leave. Dust in the air suspended Marks the place where a story ended. Dust inbreathed was a house— The wall, the wainscot and the mouse. The death of hope and despair, This is the death of air.
PÓgina 23 - Dilke on various subjects; several things dovetailed in my mind, and at once it struck me, what quality went to form a Man of Achievement, especially in Literature and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously — I mean Negative Capability, that is when man is capable of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.
PÓgina 81 - Newton's head into my picture, — "a fellow," said he, "who believed nothing unless it was as clear as the three sides of a triangle." And then he and Keats agreed he had destroyed all the poetry of the rainbow by reducing it to the prismatic colours. It was impossible to resist him, and we all drank "Newton's health, and confusion to mathematics.
PÓgina 72 - Shakespeare - they always do - and will quote that hackneyed passage forgetting that this unfortunate aphorism about Art holding the mirror up to Nature, is deliberately said by Hamlet in order to convince the bystanders of his absolute insanity in all art-matters.
PÓgina 37 - Because one has only learnt to get the better of words For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which One is no longer disposed to say it. And so each venture Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate With shabby equipment always deteriorating In the general mess of imprecision of feeling, Undisciplined squads of emotion.
PÓgina 283 - In this very attitude did I sit when I called to him, rapidly stating what it was I wanted him to do — namely, to examine a small paper with me. Imagine my surprise, nay, my consternation, when without moving from his privacy, Bartleby in a singularly mild, firm voice, replied,
PÓgina 82 - is a highly elaborated and disguised account of a boy's love for his mother, and consequent jealousy of and hatred toward his father.

ReferŔncies a aquest llibre

Reading Late Lawrence
N. H. Reeve
Previsualitzaciˇ no disponible - 2003
Carol Reed
Peter William Evans
Previsualitzaciˇ limitada - 2005

Sobre l'autor (2009)

Adam Phillips has been called "the closest thing we have to a philosopher of happiness." Formerly Principal Child Psychotherapist at Charing Cross Hospital in London, Phillips is the author of such works as Winnicott; On Kissing, Tickling, and Being Bored; Monogamy; On Flirtation; Terror and Experts; Darwin's Worms; Promises, Promises; and Houdini's Box.

Informaciˇ bibliogrÓfica