Showing posts with label Analysts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Analysts. Show all posts

Sunday, April 28, 2013

Some Time Among the Analysts

So I spent my weekend in a room listening to people speak of hate, rage and vengeance. Was I at some obscure mystery conference? Was I hanging out with the United States Congress?

No, I was at a psychoanalytic symposium. The cases being discussed had definite elements of noir. I should have been in heaven. Alas, I was frequently bored and my mind wandered. The tellers of tales at these symposia are very smart people and I’m sure they’re well aware of the drama inherent in these stories, but they read their papers and the drama is blunted by psychoanalytic lingo.

Never am I so aware of how badly most people read aloud. Of course, it’s hard to make phrases like “intrapsychic, interpersonal revitalization” and “dissociated, internalized introjects” come trippingly off the tongue. Sir Kenneth Branagh might manage to make the words sing but he’s busy rehearsing Macbeth.

The cases presented are works in progress so it is impossible to know if any of these tales will have a noir ending. People who can afford analysis several times a week are rarely standing on life’s margins (“Though he had won Nobel prizes in several disciplines he felt empty.”). If analysts can't alway achieve happy endings, they can at least aim for what Freud called "common unhappiness."

I go to these conferences on a yearly basis and always bring along a genuine piece of noir as an antidote to the obfuscating language and flat reading. This year’s selection was Cornell Woolrich’s Fright. I have the Hard Case Crime edition with a deliciously lurid cover. In Fright our schmuck is a young man who is being blackmailed by a woman he slept with after a night of drinking. He is engaged to a young woman with money and on his wedding day his one night stand comes for what she says will be her final payment. He murders her but gets to the church on time.

Married now and overwhelmed with guilt, he thinks he is being pursued by a plainclothes detective. His wife might find out. The law might close in. I'm betting on his superego to bring him down.

Stephanie Patterson

Friday, March 2, 2012

Letting it All Hang Out

I read in the New York Times a few weeks ago about a study proving that modern adolescents can make their feelings of social inadequacy less stressful by writing a public blog discussing these feelings, opening the blog to comments. Comments from friends, from strangers, from enemies. I looked back – way back – on my own teenage years and said to myself, no way in hell.

Can you imagine spreading your feelings before the public, to be jeered at and trampled upon? Your feelings of inadequacy? I was so keen to keep my adolescent thoughts and feelings to myself that I wrote my diary in a cipher I invented. One time I came home from school and found my mother painstakingly deciphering it, sharing a good laugh with my little sister. This event was so traumatic that I might have told my shrink about it, if I ever had a shrink. Naturally I never did, because my feelings are my own, thank you very much. I'm not going to hire somebody to listen to me talk about them.

Yet I've been writing fiction for a number of years now, and yes, keeping a blog, two blogs actually, this one and my own blog (kategallison.blogspot.com). Wouldn't you think that the real Kate Gallison would peep out of the verbal thicket from time to time, mad-eyed, like Mr. Rochester's wife peeping out of his attic? Wouldn't you think she might expose her feelings of social inadequacy?

Maybe yes, maybe no. We are, after all, women (and men) of mystery here. We strive to entertain you, but not necessarily by exposing ourselves. If you want to know my most secret feelings you must sneak up on me at a cocktail party and wait for me to inadvertently blurt out one of the more embarrassing parts of my personal history. But I don't commit my real feelings to paper, or to a computer screen, when I can edit them. That's what the delete key is for.

The very idea.

Kate Gallison