"A fresh take on George Orwell as a far more nature-loving figure than is often portrayed, and a dazzlingly rich meditation on roses, gardens, and the value and use of beauty and pleasure in the face of brutality and horror. "In the spring of 1936 a man planted roses." That man was George Orwell, shortly before he went off to fight against fascism in Spain. Today, those rosebushes are still thriving. This is the starting point for Rebecca Solnit's new book, which presents another side of Orwell, a neglected arcadian Orwell who took enormous pleasure in the natural world and found great meaning and value in it. Orwell's planting of the roses is an axle from which Solnit's chapters radiate out like spokes as she brilliantly explores its various contexts, perspectives, and meanings, following the contours of Orwell's life and tracking how deeply enmeshed the love of nature is in all his writing. Journeying to the cottage in Wallingford where Orwell lived in 1936, she examines his desire to be agrarian and settled, how gardening restored him, and how planting something can be an act of fidelity and faith. Probing at the beauty and meaning of roses, she draws in the revolutionary photography and politics of Tina Modotti and makes a clandestine visit to a Columbian rose factory, where 80% of America's roses for sale are grown. She tracks the history of gardening, showing how the desire to garden is culturally determined and often rooted in class, recounts the immense battles over breeding and genetics in Russia during Stalin's time, and probes into the colonialist roots of Orwell's forebears, who worked in opium production in India and profiteered from sugar and slavery in Jamaica. Solnit shows how these points of intersection illuminate Orwell's work, and how that illumination shines forth on larger questions about beauty, pleasure, meaning, relationship, and hope. Her book establishes that "Orwellian" could stand for something more than ominous, corrupt, and sinister"--

'My mother was the source of my brains and my father the mother of kindness,' said Sandor Rado, a Hungarian analyst whom Freud first embraced but with whom he was later displeased. In Heresy: Sandor Rado and the Psychoanalytic Movement, Paul Roazen and Bluma Swerdloff use interviews with Rado and his family to bring to life one of Freud's foremost followers, who later founded his own institute and psychodynamic orientation, one that focused on motivation rather than instinct. Based on interviews sponsored by the Columbia University Oral History Project, and including Freud's letters to Rado, this is a personal account of Rado and the life events that shaped him and his theories. Rado's life in late nineteenth-century Hungary, the enduring influence of his mother, his meetings with Freud (who made three slips of the tongue during their first encounter), his analysis with Karl Abraham, his affair with Helene Deutsch (she called it a 'companionship of suffering'), and Rank and Ferenczi's downfalls are vividly depicted. Rado's radical departure from Freudian theories of femininity, a reformulation daringly in keeping with today's gender debates, is also included. Rado freed himself from phallocentrism, abandoning the notions of universal castration fear and penis envy. He contended that men and woman are different, which does not mean that women are inferior. He saw women as having a greater emotional capacity based on their biological role as child bearers and nurturers. In 1963, as further evidence of his prescience, Rado prophesied the current crisis in psychotherapy, noting that 'the old-fashioned therapeutic practice will disappear for lack of money.' He anticipated that the influence of biochemical genetics was going to be 'so enormous that it would be bootless to try to outline it.' Dr. Swerdloff uses Rado's predictions and an analysis of the present debate to demonstrate the need to steer psychoanalysis toward a more scientific course.