It takes guts to begin a novel about Freud as Sheila Kohler does, with the bland pronouncement that “he sits at his desk in his study, sucking on a cigar.” The joke is almost too obvious, and in the hands of another author would likely come across as desperate. That I was smiling by the time I finished reading the punchline is a testament to Kohler’s consistent ability to transform the stuff of erotic melodrama into something with a good deal more verve and intelligence.
And yet, in some ways, Dreaming for Freud flips Kohler’s usual formula on its head. Erotic secrets abound, but Kohler steadfastly refuses to position any of them as central—the key to unlocking Freud, Dora, or the narrative itself. If this sounds antithetical to Freud’s own theories, it should; this tension forms the backbone of the novel. Freud is a man in search of origins. Office lined with Egyptian figurines, he goes about his work like an archaeologist or, in his own words, a “hunter”: “He is an adventurer, a conquistador, Pisarro, a searcher of gold! He is hunting down the truth of the heart, and this girl must be made to give it to him, whether she wishes to or not.” Continue reading
Reading In The Growlery 