First, because most prior fiction concerning the conflicts and other human failings of those involved in higher education have usually been produced by writers drawing on their experience as teachers, their works have centered more on faculty than students. In this novel, it is the other way around. Second, and equally if not more noteworthy, this novel not only places its protagonists within the larger framework of trends in the field of psychology, it also relates much of their motivation and social-emotional dramas to the conventional wisdom and “revealed truths” of the field. In short, the story unfolded here is both personal and professional. It details the experiences of those first entering psychology, links them to the activities and eccentricities of those already established within it, and employs both as the basis for a cogent critique of the field as a whole. This is no small accomplishment, especially since it goes against the grain of what has been called our “psychologistic” society.

In fact, as a profession, a science, and a cultural phenomenon, American psychology has clearly been one of the great success stories of the 20th century. Having emerged at the end of the 19th century as the handiwork of a relatively small handful of academics disenchanted with airy philosophizing about the mind and eager to apply the methods of science to the study of human behavior, psychology in one form or another now permeates every aspect of American society. Accordingly, it is not surprising that over the past decade more university students have chosen to major in psychology than in any other discipline. And many of the best and brightest then try to go on to graduate school seeking master’s and doctoral degrees. What happens to some of them when they get there, particularly the relatively small, creative minority who are seriously interested in doing original, basic research, is the primary theme of this novel.

One of the first things these students discover is that most of their fellow students have a very different attitude. The majority are mainly concerned with getting a degree that will qualify them for a career as therapists, or in industry, government or teaching rather than original research, and are willing to do whatever this may require. They soon learn to conform to the normative patterns of work in their area of specialization. But those with a genuine sense of vocation about pushing beyond the boundaries of the status quo in psychology may have a harder time of it. If they do not simply “hitch their wagon to a star” by trying to reproduce the sort of work carried out by well-established faculty, and insist on pursuing a more independent, innovative line of theory or research, they are likely to find themselves rather isolated and thought of as oddballs. And if they should go so far as to openly challenge any of the prevailing orthodoxies, they become known as cranks or troublemakers.

There was a time when cranks and troublemakers were quite well accepted in psychology. Indeed, as an undergraduate in the early 1950's one the things that first attracted me to the field was that several of my psychology instructors seemed eccentric enough to fit that description. I still recall the one who would climb up on the tables we used as desks and walk across them while lecturing, in order, I suppose, to get our attention. And another who in between puffs on his pipe would occasionally make pronouncements such as “none of you should think of studying psychology seriously until you have read Dostoevsky!” Since I was just then working my way through The Brothers Karamazoff, this made a profound impression; I also bought a pipe. Unfortunately, most of their breed are long gone and would no longer be welcome if they were to return. Over the past 50 years of steady institutional growth and professionalization, psychology has become a reified discipline like all the others. It has even gone a long way towards resolving what has been called its “physics envy.” So when the occasional graduate students show up who seem to be a bit of a throwback, they run into trouble. And that is precisely what is dramatized in this book.

What we have here is the story of how a few very bright and very idealistic students get into trouble by trying to follow the advice Joseph Campbell famously gave to young adults who were not sure what they should do with their lives, namely, “follow your bliss.” Or, in other words, find out what sort of work or subject matter is intrinsically fascinating to you and then, come what may, just devote yourself to it. In the story told here the student’s central passion is for the study of dreams, and is accompanied by the conviction that psychology has generally not appreciated or tried hard enough to understand the deep existential significance of dreams.

Such a passion and point of view are not, on the face of it, unreasonable or particularly radical. However, the trouble is that after a century of poking around with dream theories and research, about the only thing mainstream academic psychology has been able to discover is that rapid eye movements during sleep indicate dreaming, and that brain waves consistently vary a good deal during dreaming. We also have the Freudian and Jungian theories about why people dream and the meaning of their dreams. But aside from some psychotherapists who often find those theories useful when treating clients, the majority of academic psychologists reject them as speculative and unverifiable. The flat out truth of the matter is that there is simply not much of a constituency for dream theory or research in contemporary psychology. On the one hand, the scientistic academic establishment doesn’t want much to do with dream material because there is no apparent way to observe, predict, or control it, and on the other hand, therapists are generally satisfied to leave it be as just another source of diagnostic information concerning individual clients.

Consequently, anyone who tries to challenge this state of affairs, particularly a young student whose only claim to credibility is an excellent undergraduate grade record and high scores on the graduate record exam (which are good enough to get in the door with some financial support but not for much else), is in for trouble... unless they can get help. Enter the faculty! It is virtually a law of nature that in order to survive in graduate school, every student has to find a mentor, a professor willing to sponsor and supervise their thesis work, offer general guidance on how to navigate through the academic maze, and, as often as not, some substantial moral support when things go wrong or they take a wrong turn. Most students learn this very quickly. And the brighter ones tend to seek out and more or less apprentice themselves to a Professor who seems sympathetic.

In the present narrative, as might be expected, the unusually independent, somewhat eccentric student soon connects with the professor who seems to stand out as the most independent and eccentric of the lot. It initially seems a good match. The professor also thinks dreams are important. He even knows something about Freudian and Jungian theory, and is willing to encourage the student’s interest in pursuing the existential implications of Jung’s metaphysics. But the inevitable problems arise when other faculty members raise questions critical of the student, and the one who is now “his” professor begins to equivocate. Instead of reinforcing Joseph Campbell’s “follow your bliss” aphorism, he offers Lyndon Johnson’s: “If you want to get along you have to go along,” plus a few bars from that old favorite, “It aint whatcha do it’s the way thatcha do it.”

This is not a terribly unusual event in graduate school. Even securely tenured professors, eccentricity notwithstanding, who can afford to confront their colleagues with no fear of substantial retribution, are typically reluctant to do so over the status of a graduate student. They know that long after a student has come and gone, they will have to continue living with their colleagues. And so, rightly or wrongly, the rule of thumb is compromise. Various ramifications of this situation are developed in the novel and serve as focal points of the action. Briefly then, without going into further detail about the story, which unfolds into a surprisingly high drama concerning not only the graduate school environment and its potential life and death impact on students, but also the integrity of psychology as a whole, this novel provides both an exciting read and a knowledgeable critique of graduate education in general.

But is it true? That is, aside from creating an exciting story out of what many people, including faculty and students, would consider to be the everyday drudgery of academia, should the novel be accepted as a valid guide to the realities of work in psychology? Or, is it (worst case scenario) simply a roman a clef wherein a disaffected author is trying to settle accounts with the discipline that has disappointed or rejected him? As someone who has spent 38 years growing old in the field, I know the safest answer would be that it’s all in the eye of the beholder. However, it seems to me that in this respect the work deserves more than an easy cop-out. I have already noted that it is certainly accurate in its portrayal of academic details. The general context, therefore, is true enough, although there is always some variability from one university to another. And the nature of relationships between graduate students and faculty, one of the central themes that I am quite familiar with, is also pretty well on target. So in these matters, the worst case scenario does not apply. While the novel may not be a perfect “guide to the perplexed” for young people considering graduate school, it wouldn’t hurt them to give it their attention, and it just might save them a good deal of grief.

When it comes to the major climactic event in the novel where psychology itself is roundly indicted for its apparent failings and questionable promises, I’m inclined to confess ambivalence. We do have, God knows, a substantial burden of embarrassments. Like it has only been over the past decade or so that we have been able to live down the fact that we sold the public a false bill of goods about intelligence testing in the 1940's and 50's. Then in the 60's we claimed that school integration would take care of racism, and it was only in the 70's that we dropped homosexuality from the official list of mental disorders. Right now we have an ongoing, unsettled argument in the field about whether the “repressed memory syndrome” (in which adults claim to suddenly recall traumatic abuses they suffered as children) is “real” or the result of suggestion. The list could go on, but to what purpose? Every professional and academic discipline has a substantial rap sheet extending from the past to the present. Economists don’t agree about the signs of recessions or what to do about them; anthropologists are accused of exploiting the cultures they study; biochemistry gave us DDT and thalidomide; lawyer abuses and jokes abound, etc.