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disruption and recommendations for pre- and post-placement services. Not surprisingly, given the current climate of welfare economics in the U.S., the book concludes with a strong plea for more government money for adoption and subsidies. My main impression of the book was favourable: a fascinating, enjoyable read, which serves to detail and unravel the complexity of older child adoption while providing new insights into the adjustment process. I found the presentation good and particularly liked the use of case studies to illustrate how adoptions can disrupt. However, the concentration on cognitive processes left me wanting more information on the less concrete aspects of adoption. While there were references to the place of feelings of separation and loss in the adjustment process, these and other emotions were not explored. For the British reader, an understanding of the nature and workings of U.S. childcare is helpful to the reading of this book. Nonetheless it has an important contribution to make and I would recommend it as essential reading for all child care workers concerned with adoption and issues around finding and keeping substitute families for children. Sarah Wedge
The Lkama of Being a Child. London: Virago, 1987. pp. 156. For Your Ourn Good. London: Virago, 1987. pp. 288. Thou shalt not be aware. London: Pluto, 1985. pp. 831. All by Alice Miller. One could hardly be unaware of child abuse these days. But what happens when its reality in one’s own life is repressed from consciousness? This is the question addressed by Swiss psychoanalyst, Alice Miller. She deals in these books not only with the after-effects of physical and sexual abuse but also with those of all abuse in which children are used for the gratification of others to the neglect of their own needs and feelings. It is this neglect, says Miller, that initially causes repression of the outrage abuse engenders-neglect which in part occurs because the child is too fearful of expressing its anguish and anger lest it thereby lose the love and support of its caretakers on which it then so much depends. Unaware of these feelings, she writes in The Drama of Being a Child, we mistakenly idealize childliood in retrospect, only becoming conscious of its conflicts as they surface in adolescence. But the suffering of not having our “true”, “narcissistic” needs met as children lives on, leading to a depressed sense of inner emptiness against which many defend with what U.S. analyst Heinz Kohut calls “narcissistic grandiosity”. Alternatively we split off and project our disparaged and disowned childish feelings of suffering and impotence into others-into our children, and into our patients in so far as we are therapists. We thereby compulsively repeat and perpetuate in them the very abuse we suffered as children, using them as we ourselves were used and abused as “self-objects” on which to vent our needs at their expense. This vicious cycle, stresses Miller, will only end once therapists become conscious of, and mourn the reality of the suffering they endured as children. Only then can they enable their patients likewise to access the reality of their own childhood experience of abuse. But this is no mean task if For Your Own Good is to be believed.
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For Miller here argues that child abuse is virtually universal given the prevalence of what she terms “poisonous pedagogy” and its doctrine of curbing and suppressing the child’s every spontaneous impulse, supposedly in its interests but actually in the interests of securing its obedience to the will of its parents and guardians. Herein lies the breeding ground of fascism, says Miller, of the unquestioning allegiance of adolescents and adults to totalitarian ideology in the hope that it will provide the comfort and security of which they were so starved as children. Illustrative in this context, writes Miller, is the biography of Hitler and of two recently publicized German cases-one a drug addict, the other a child murderer. The sado-masochistic dramas in which ail three engaged as adolescents and adults, argue Miller, were the unconscious re-enactment of the physical and sexual abuse of which they were victims in childhood. There is, of course, nothing new to the claim that psychopathology expresses repressed childhood trauma and abuse. This was precisely the thesis advanced by Freud in his I 896 seduction theory of neurosis-a theory he abandoned the next year in favour of the claim that neurosis is the effect not of actual but of fantasized abuse dreamt up by the child on the basis of its innate sexual drives and desires. The demise of seduction theory, claims Miller in Thou Shalt not be Aware, is of a piece with the teachings of poisonous pedagogy that psychological ills are the fault of the child, not of its parents or environment. Two distinct and, according to Miller, mutually incompatible therapies have since developed in psychoanalysis. The first-that of Freud and Klein-focuses, as in the case of the Wolf Man, on the drives and fantasies of individuals to the neglect of the all too real traumas and abuses they suffered as children. It thereby compounds rather than alleviates the very cause of neurosis, namely the failure of others to recognize the reality of the abuse it expresses. By contrast other analysts, notably Winnicott and Kohut, make a point of attending to this reality and its role in the genesis of adolescent and adult mental illness. Not surprisingly it is this approach that Miller advocates as a means of enabling our otherwise stunted “true” selves to develop so that we no longer destructively visit our childhood suffering on ourselves and others, or consign it solely to the realms of fiction as in the case of Kafka with whose letters and novels she ends. The conclusions Miller draws from Kafka’s, the Wolf Man’s, and Hitler’s actions, nightmares, and stories as to the traumas of their early childhood are questionable. So too is her claim that we are mostly unaware of our parents’ abuse of us as children. For surely it is our very awareness of this abuse and our grievances against our parents on this score that makes her books, like those of R. D. Laing before them, so immediately appealing? Nor are her books free of the very drive theory for which she condemns Freudianism. In asserting that parents should meet children’s “true” and, by implication, pre-social needs and impulses is she not assuming their innate existence? Her failure to adequately acknowledge the precursors of her theory both in Freud’s work and in that of his followers on the psychological underpinnings of fascism is also irritating, not least because she thereby fails to draw attention to its r&o-economic as well as psychological roots. Perhaps this neglect is justified by the fact that her work, like that of Laing, is more messianic than scholarly in intent. As such it is very successful in that her books are extremely readable and persuasive. They will do much to alert parents and therapists
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to the reality of the traumas of their own, their offspring’s, and their patients’ childhood all too long obscured by drive theory. More than persuasion however is needed if recognition of this reality is to be sustained. Our defences against its acknowledgement also have to be undone. It is therefore a pity that, in rejecting all developments within Freudianism since 1896, Miller overlooks its contribution in this area. She thereby cuts short her otherwise extremely useful and timely observations on the implications of child abuse for those working with its adolescent and adult survivors. Janet Sayers