by Sigmund Freud
A star rating seems a bit pointless: this is one of the great intellectual summits of the modern era. Nor do I have the temerity to review it, as such; indeed, I find it rather hard to summarize my impressions.
This isn’t exactly science. Too much of the evidence is anecdotal and unfalsifiable. Yet it represents a diligent, honest and monumentally comprehensive attempt to throw light on a subject of which science, before Freud’s time, was largely ignorant – and remains so today despite the impressive technical advances in neurophysiology of recent years. ‘Natural philosophy’, the study of nature as practised before science came to be formalised and regulated, describes it better.
And a century and a quarter after it was written, Freud’s magnum opus remains as impressive as ever. Far-fetched as his ideas sometimes seem, he lays them out and argues them persuasively. Whether they are objectively true or false, analysands, artists and intellectuals have found them helpful, inspiring and endlessly insightful. Even Freud’s foes are obliged to reckon with him; he is not someone who can simply be dismissed when cultural fashion turns against him, as it has today.
I think it’s worth noting that The Interpretation of Dreams is also partly an autobiographical work dealing with its author’s inner and outer life, and makes the reader privy to sometimes-startling personal revelations. It has a peculiar and inspiring literary quality of its own, which makes it a stunningly good read for the open-minded and curious, among whose company this reader counts himself.
It took me over a month to finish this book, living quite intensely with it in my free time while working on a book of my own. The further I read, the more worthwhile seemed to be the investment of time and effort. I still feel it working in my mind, though I put it down a week ago.
This isn’t exactly science. Too much of the evidence is anecdotal and unfalsifiable. Yet it represents a diligent, honest and monumentally comprehensive attempt to throw light on a subject of which science, before Freud’s time, was largely ignorant – and remains so today despite the impressive technical advances in neurophysiology of recent years. ‘Natural philosophy’, the study of nature as practised before science came to be formalised and regulated, describes it better.
And a century and a quarter after it was written, Freud’s magnum opus remains as impressive as ever. Far-fetched as his ideas sometimes seem, he lays them out and argues them persuasively. Whether they are objectively true or false, analysands, artists and intellectuals have found them helpful, inspiring and endlessly insightful. Even Freud’s foes are obliged to reckon with him; he is not someone who can simply be dismissed when cultural fashion turns against him, as it has today.
I think it’s worth noting that The Interpretation of Dreams is also partly an autobiographical work dealing with its author’s inner and outer life, and makes the reader privy to sometimes-startling personal revelations. It has a peculiar and inspiring literary quality of its own, which makes it a stunningly good read for the open-minded and curious, among whose company this reader counts himself.
It took me over a month to finish this book, living quite intensely with it in my free time while working on a book of my own. The further I read, the more worthwhile seemed to be the investment of time and effort. I still feel it working in my mind, though I put it down a week ago.
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